


Uprising

by electricshoebox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Justice!Velanna, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders wasn’t the only mage to join the Wardens in Amaranthine. What if Justice had chosen a very different host? And what if a very different revolution had shaken the foundations of Kirkwall? When Hawke and company seek out an expert on the Deep Roads, they meet a cantankerous elf woman named Velanna with a mysterious past and a passion for elves’ rights. None of them could imagine the meeting might change their world forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Business Discussion

**Author's Note:**

> My roomie sparked this idea one day when we were discussing David Gaider’s remarks that BioWare almost chose Velanna as the DA2 Justice companion, and we began to dream of how different things might have been. This will be a multi-part Justice!Velanna fic. Very special thanks to Katie for being my beta and my sounding board, and for allowing me to share her fantastic art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My best friend Katie sparked this idea one day when we were discussing David Gaider’s remarks that BioWare almost chose Velanna as the DA2 Justice companion, and we began to dream of how different things might have been. This will be a multi-part Justice!Velanna fic. Very special thanks to Katie for being my beta and my sounding board, and for allowing me to share her fantastic art. The picture below links back to her art blog, and there are so many wonderful things, you should check it out and tell her how great she is!

_It’s funny, or maybe it’s fitting, that you should be asking me for a story. Stories are what started this, you know. They’re saying it was just rebellion, or conspiracy, because that’s easy to swallow. But conspiracies are for the cheap novels, Seeker. You’re asking for the best seller. The good stories are never so simple, never so trite. Neither are the revolutions. Not the successful ones, anyway._

_You’re asking me why history is repeating itself? How the Champion stumbled into the heart of it all?_

_You’ll need to hear the_ whole _story._

* * *

 

The problem with Garrett Hawke was that he was an optimist. An unshakable one, sometimes. And a foolish one, if you asked his brother. Even when they were fleeing from Lothering, the flames still licking their heels and the darkspawn grabbing for their throats. Even when their mother bent sobbing over their sister, nearly broken in half by an ogre’s fist. Even when the Kirkwall templars stood between them and what would just have to become home.

And the most infuriating thing about it was that he was usually right.

Their uncle Gamlen eventually slithered out of some hole in the city gate, offering them a way in. And theydid make it out of Ferelden, and away from the Blight. They even had a bloody  _dragon_  to thank for it. (A year later and Carver still wasn’t ready to stop grousing over that one.)

But there was no dragon coming to drop a bag of sovereigns on their doorstep this time. Carver frowned down at his pint, then ducked his head just in time to avoid a full tray to the face as the barmaid sailed by. No, this time they just had to go trouncing about the Deep Roads, never mind the darkspawn and Maker-only-knew what other creatures hungrily awaited, on a damned treasure hunt. That may or may not result in treasure. Oh, who was he kidding?  _Garrett_  was involved. Carver wouldn’t even have the energy to feign surprise when they found a long lost dwarven gold mine around the first corner they turned. It was just Garrett’s sodding, foolish, infuriating luck. And there was absolutely no way in which Carver found that the tiniest bit comforting. Not at all. None.

Carver snatched up his pint and tilted his head back.

Garrett watched him gulp down the ale, foam dribbling down his chin as he slammed the empty flagon down on the table. Garrett raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you so flustered?”

“Where’s this dwarf of yours?” Carver barked, dragging a hand over his chin, “It’s getting late.”

“Dwarf of  _mine_?” Garrett had the nerve to look amused, but said no more. Carver scowled down at the stains on the table.

“How can you drink this stuff, anyway?” Garrett said, eyeing his own pint. “It tastes like rancid piss.”

“A flavor you’re familiar with?” Carver shot back, then faltered a little under the warning glare he got in return. It was a cheap shot, and they both knew it. He shifted on the bench. “You take what you can get in the army. It gets you drunk, so you drink it. You don’t really have the luxury of being  _choosy_.”

Garrett sighed, a weary sound he made when he was just about done letting Carver push him. When they were younger, it was as good as a victory trumpet for his little brother. On his more petulant (and drunk) days, it still was. Goading his brother seemed to be one of the only pleasures he found lately, especially as Garrett grew in popularity. Carver hid his grin by turning to wave his empty flagon at the barmaid.

“Gentlemen!”

The dwarf finally appeared at the edge of the table. Carver couldn’t remember his name. Eric? Baldric? Something like that. Whatever it was, Carver didn’t trust him. He was all easy smiles and smooth-talking, and that usually meant trouble. The dwarf chose that moment to turn a smirk on him. “Ah, I see you’ve already sampled the nectar of the gods they serve here.”

Carver donned his best disinterested frown and crossed his arms. The dwarf, still smirking, waved a hand toward the back of the tavern. “Come on, I nabbed one of their better bottles. My room’s this way.”

“A dwarf living in a tavern. How original,” Carver muttered as they stood, ignoring the look Garrett sent him.

“What can I say? I get homesick. And all the good caves were taken,” the dwarf laughed over his shoulder. He led them up the stairs and into a surprisingly spacious room, gesturing to the table at the front of it.

Once they were seated with glasses of something Carver grudgingly admitted superior to the tavern swill, the dwarf leaned on the edge of the table.

“So here’s the thing,” he said, “We need to find a way into the Deep Roads.”

“You planned a whole expedition without knowing how you were going to get down there?” Carver interrupted. Garrett’s jaw tightened, but the dwarf seemed unfazed.

“Bartrand had an entrance lined up, but it was a bust,” he explained.

“Any entrance would do, wouldn’t it?” Garrett said. “Unless a dragon’s sitting in it, I suppose.”

The dwarf chuckled. “Well, I’ve gotten word that there’s a Grey Warden in the city. The rumor is she’s an elf, holed up somewhere in the alienage, and she’s got some sort of operation going there, help for elves in trouble, or something like that. But everyone in the alienage is tight-lipped about it.”

“Wonderful,” Carver muttered.

“Relax, Junior,” the dwarf said. Carver’s eyes narrowed, but the dwarf continued, “I was thinking maybe we could get that Tevinter elf to help us. You know, the tattooed one from the other night?”

Carver curled his lip at the memory.

“I don’t even think he’d open the door for me,” Garrett said, reaching for his glass. “You heard him when he found out I was a mage.”

“But he also said he was at our disposal, and agreed to join the expedition,” the dwarf pointed out. “Just let me do the talking, Hawke.”

Garrett sighed, then shrugged. “Sounds like you have it all planned out, Varric.” (Right, that was the name.)

“And that, messere, is why I’m here,” Varric bowed dramatically.

“Things are looking up, eh?” Garrett patted Carver’s shoulder. Carver gave him a look and reached for his drink.

Stupid,  _stupid_  optimist.

 

* * *

It took the whole walk from the back corner of Hightown the strange elf lived in all the way down through Lowtown and onto the steps of the alienage for Carver to stop gaping at Varric. Garrett told him at least twice that his jaw was scraping the dirt, but he couldn’t even find a proper retort.

“I just don’t understand how he did it!” he said when Garrett nudged him again. They stood before one of the market stalls against the wall, while Fenris spoke to one of the elves on the other side of the courtyard. It took Varric less than a minute to convince the elf to join them, though neither of the Hawke brothers could hear the conversation. Garrett shrugged, remarking that maybe Fenris was more amenable than he seemed. For his part, Varric simply grinned at them, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and pretending to find the silk shirts laid out on the merchant’s table very interesting indeed. Carver shook his head, glancing back at his brother in time to catch him staring at the elf again.

“Do you think he’s playing us?” Carver asked, lifting one of the shirts from the table.

Garrett blinked, staring at Carver a moment before he spoke. “Who? Varric?”

“Well, either, really,” Carver shrugged, “But I meant the elf.”

Garrett turned back toward the table, running his fingers over one of the tunics. “I don’t see what he’d gain by it. He needed our help in the first place, and he just doesn’t seem like the type.”

“Doesn’t seem like the type? He went to the trouble of hiring someone to deceive us just to get help.”

“There’s a difference between self-preservation and malicious intent.”

Carver frowned. “Right. He gets us surrounded by an army of angry slavers and that’s not ‘malicious intent.’”

Laughter near his elbow drew Carver’s gaze, and he found Varric shaking his head. “You  _really_  ought to relax, Junior, take in the scenery. And that’s really not your color.”

“What scenery?” Carver grumbled. He glanced at the shirt in his hands and huffed, tossing it back onto the table. The merchant grumbled, reaching to straighten it.

Truthfully, the alienage wasn’t exactly scenic. The towering painted tree in the center certainly drew the eye, lit by the small candles the elves left at its base, but aside from that, there was little to see. Ramshackle buildings full of small flats stacked on top of each other surrounded the courtyard, with doors leaning on their hinges and strange graffiti splashed across the walls. The stone was rough and weather-beaten, much like the people, and even the torchlight did little to warm it. In fact, the tree seemed to be the only spark of life, the bright red and yellow paint at the base leaping out from amidst the drab stone.

“I think he’s finished,” Varric said, giving a slight nod toward Fenris. The elf was casually strolling back up the alienage steps. The group spent a few more minutes pretending to examine the stalls before following. Fenris waited for them outside Gamlen’s house, leaning against the railing.

“How’d it go, Elf?” Varric called.

“She is indeed staying in the alienage,” Fenris said, straightening. “They refer to her as the Teacher—she’s been teaching them elven history, he said, things only the Dalish know. He said to look for the lit lantern, knock twice and then enter.”

“Doesn’t seem like much of a reason to hide,” Garrett remarked.

“No, but being an apostate might,” Fenris replied evenly, frowning.

“She’s a mage?” Carver raised an eyebrow. “But she’s a Warden, doesn’t that… excuse her, or something?”

“Maybe she’s hiding from them too,” Garrett shrugged.

“She sounds like exactly the sort of person we want to help us,” Carver rolled his eyes.

Fenris folded his arms. “I’m inclined to agree.”

“We don’t have any other options, I’m afraid,” Varric said. “Wardens aren’t exactly parading around Kirkwall, and trying to track down an entrance without a map could delay us months at this point.”

“Apostate runaway Warden it is then!” Garrett announced. “Anyone for lunch?”

* * *

The group returned that night, once the alienage was quiet and empty. By night, pale green and red light flickered across the painted trunk, casting a strange glow that Carver found eerie. Garrett, too, looked uneasy, his eyes skimming the windows around them. Yet, just as Fenris had said, they quickly found the lantern hanging near an old door in the far corner of the courtyard. Garrett and Carver exchanged glances. As Garrett lifted one hand to the door, the other hovered near his staff.

“Hello?” he called after two short knocks. The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open, and Carver winced. So much for subtlety.

As they stepped into the room, a heavy, wooden smell filled their senses. By the dim light of a few low-burning candles, they could see several wooden tables littered with books and papers as well as a few scattered chairs. A woman sat near the back of the room, hunched over a broad desk. For a brief moment, Carver swore he saw a flash of light in front of her, more than the simple glint of her robes in the candlelight. He tensed.

“Pardon the intrusion—” Garrett began, but the woman leapt from her chair before he could finish, snatching her staff from where it leaned on the wall. He fingers crackled with energy as she snarled up at them, several strands of golden hair falling over her face.

“I have made this place a sanctum of education and salvation! Why do you threaten it,  _shemlen_?”

 

[ ](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com/post/75517004592/remade-an-old-pic-i-wasnt-too-fond-of-anymore)

“I mean you no harm. I just want to talk,” Garrett held up a hand, even as Fenris and Carver reached for their swords.

“We’re interested in getting in the Deep Roads,” Varric added quickly from behind them, those his hand also rested on Bianca, “Rumor has it you were a Warden. Do you know a way?”

Slowly, the elven woman straightened, though she held her staff close. She wore robes of gold and dark green, with feathered pauldrons across her shoulders. Some of her hair was drawn into a bun, while the rest hung loose.

“Did the Wardens send you to find me? Is this their way?” she asked, looking tired. “I’m not going.”

“Wardens? Us?” Garrett snorted. “Hardly. Is… that why you’re hiding? To escape the Wardens?”

“You say that like it’s a small thing,” she grumbled bitterly, her lip curling. “I have my reasons, though I hardly see how that’s your business. It is… convenient that there is no Warden outpost here, and no darkspawn. But it is the templars I wish to ‘escape,’ as you put it. They are especially…  _attentive_  in the alienage.”

Her scowl deepened. Though the others still held onto their weapons, with Fenris now frowning deeply, Garrett tried to look more relaxed. “I thought joining the Wardens was for life.”

“That’s only partly true. But I never said I left the Wardens,” she said.

“But you are avoiding them,” Garrett raised an eyebrow.

“Once again, I fail to see how this is any of your concern,  _shem_ ,” she snapped, pushing her hair out her eyes. “Unless you’re here to take me back to them, or turn me over to the Circle, state your business and be done with it.”

Garrett adopted a serious expression. “I’m part of an expedition into the Deep Roads. Any information you have could save people’s lives.”

“An expedition… into the Deep Roads?” she repeated, her scowl fading. She stared at Garrett a moment. “Why would my information save lives? Are you… seeking someone, down there?”

“Not someone, no. It’s… more of a business venture,” Garrett said carefully. “But any journey down there is obviously dangerous.”

She eyed him with a strange, distant expression for a moment, then turned away, shuffling through some papers on her desk, mumbling something about the Deep Roads under her breath, too low for any of them to catch. Then she paused, shaking her head and bowing it low. She stayed like that for a minute, the group exchanging curious looks with each other, before she plucked a paper from the pile and whirled back to face them.

“A favor for a favor. You help me, and I’ll help you,” she said. She raised her chin slightly, her jaw tightening.

Garrett leaned on his staff. “Help us get into the Deep Roads, and I’ll do anything you wish.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Carver saw Fenris tense and glance at Garrett, even as Carver himself was raising an eyebrow at him. If nothing else, Carver had to admit it was nice that someone else found Garrett’s blind trust as foolish as his brother did.

Even the Warden looked skeptical. “Shouldn’t you ask my terms? What if I demand the Knight-Commander’s head on a pike? No wonder you’re so desperate for help…”

“ _Is_  that what you ask?” Garrett said, ignoring the warning looks.

The Warden shook her head. “I’ve been… aiding the elves of this city since I arrived. They have few advocates, and little knowledge of their own history, their people… so I’ve been teaching them. Anyway, one of the girls I was teaching, Alina… she’s been missing for two days. Her mother has had no word of her, and we’ve begun to fear the worst.”

“Where was she last seen?” Garrett asked.

The Warden tensed, and cast her eyes away. “I sent her with a message for a potions maker in Darktown.”

“…Tomwise?”

She nodded, shifting, then caught Hawke’s questioning look. “It wasn’t like  _that_ , he has plenty of non-poisonous ingredients, and more importantly, I can trust him. I was too busy to go myself. I just needed a few small things. Foolish…  _foolish_ …” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Has her mother spoken to the guard?”

“Of course,” the Warden sneered. “They said they’d ‘keep an eye out for her.’ Like she’s just going to walk out of some side alley and apologize for losing track of time! But no one cares what happens to elves in this city, least of all the guard.”

Garrett nodded slowly. “First thing in the morning, then, we’ll talk to Tomwise.”

“Thank you,” the Warden replied. “I… would know your names, if you are agreeing to this.”

“Hawke,” Garrett reached for her hand, “This is my brother, Carver, and this is Varric and Fenris.”

Velanna’s eyes lingered curiously on Fenris for a moment as she shook Hawke’s hand. “You may call me Velanna. Your help is… appreciated. I’ll see you there tomorrow.”

 


	2. Entropy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline joins the group's venture into Darktown, and they follow the trail through the bowels of the undercity to save Alina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, Part 2! Thank you all for your encouragement! I hope you continue to enjoy it. Thanks again to Katie for beta-ing and for letting me share her art. The picture links back to her art blog, please go bask in her wonderful work.

There were few places in Thedas as aptly named as Darktown. While the morning sunlight slowly woke the rest of Kirkwall, the sleepless shadows of the undercity stirred around rotting corners, watching. Aveline never quite understood how Hawke always managed to get her to come on these jaunts through the city’s deepest ratholes. Today it was something about how Carver had to stay home and didn’t she want to help save a poor elf girl and oh, Maker only knew what trouble Varric would get them into without Aveline to save them.

“You could just ask one of Athenril’s goons to help you,” she said, unable to keep her frown from slipping. “Or let that glowing elf friend of yours do all the talking. He seems angry enough for twenty men.”

“Have I mentioned you’re my favorite guard?”

“ _Hawke_.”

But here she was, ducking through the low doorway behind Fenris and Varric as Hawke led them into the heart of the undercity, because damn it all, she trusted that pig-headed troublemaker of an apostate. She wasn’t really certain what that said about her. But she was certain that she didn’t have to like it. It was bad enough marching along the rotting walls when she wasn’t a guard — the mud alone clung to her boots for days afterward. Now she got the dirty looks to go with her dirty boots: suspicious glances at her uniform armor, or flashes of teeth and then dagger steel. She frowned back at them, raising her chin.

Whenever Hawke dragged her down here, she found herself wondering how the whole place hadn’t just collapsed on itself ages ago. The story was that it was once part of a mine under the city, and it was easy enough to spot the remnants of old mining tunnels and carts, but no one seemed to know why it was left to decay until refugees and criminals reclaimed it. And the guard mostly left them to it. Different excuses were passed around: it wasn’t officially recognized as a district, there wasn’t enough manpower to cover it, or even that it simply wasn’t worth the trouble. And so, the shadows flourished. Of course, if  _she_  were captain…

“At last!” the elf Warden exclaimed as they reached her, shaking Aveline from her thoughts. She led them straight up some stairs toward a familiar tucked away merchant stand.

“Oh, Velanna, I was just about to— hello, Hawke!” Tomwise waved, then caught sight of Aveline and lowered his hand. “Oh… good to see you, Aveline.”

“ _Tomwise_ ,” she said, her tone as tight as her jaw as she nodded once. She took particular pleasure in the shudder he failed to suppress. She’d never approved of the elf’s shady dealings, even during her days with Athenril. But then, she’d never approved of Athenril, either.

“Er, as I was saying,” Tomwise looked back to Velanna. “I was just about to send your order over! I’m sorry I didn’t get it sooner—”

“Then you spoke to Alina? You saw her?” Velanna asked anxiously, pressing her hands onto the table.

“Well, sure—”

“You’re  _certain_?” Velanna demanded.

Tomwise frowned. “Of course! What is—”

“When did you last see her?” Hawke finally spoke up, and Tomwise’s brow furrowed.

“It was… a couple of days ago, I suppose. Has something happened?”

“She’s missing,” said the blonde Warden, finally stepping back. “But she left here all right? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Not a thing!” Tomwise said. “I told her to tell you it would take an extra day to get the—”

“Damn it!” Velanna pounded her fist against the table, drawing stares from her companions and a few passers-by.

“Did she say anything about where she might be headed?” Hawke asked. Tomwise shook his head.

“I just assumed home. I’m sorry.”

Velanna stalked away, leaving the others to thank the merchant and run after her.

“I hope you find her!” he called after them.

“This is disastrous!” Velanna cried, her hands balling into fists at her side. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t sent her…”

“Calm down,” Aveline said. “We’re no good to her panicking.”

“Maybe we can ask around? Someone might remember seeing her,” Hawke suggested. He exchanged a shrewd look with Aveline. Running jobs for Athenril made both of them more than familiar with the rumors of who exactly filled Darktown’s old tunnels.

“Is there anywhere else she preferred to visit?” Fenris asked from behind them, but Velanna shook her head.

“No. She spent most of her time with—”

“Miss Velanna?”

The voice was small and trembling. Aveline looked down to find an elf child staring up at them, wringing her hands.

“Jana!” the Warden said, lowering herself to her knees, “Jana, what are you doing here? Where’s your father?”

“Oh, Miss Velanna, I was so scared!” the child wailed, running forward to cling to Velanna’s shoulders. The blonde blinked in surprise, slowly raising a hand to pat the girl’s head.

“There, there…” she said, trying to pull away.

“Miss Velanna, they took them!”

“What?” Velanna pulled the child back to face her. “What are you talking about?”

“A bunch of shem. They took Alina and the others. I… I was playing in the barrels, and I heard them, so I hid. They had them all tied together, and they took them down that old passage,” the child pointed far down the pathway. “They told them to be quiet, that if anyone saw, they’d have to hurt them. I was so scared, Miss Velanna! I… I couldn’t tell Papa, I thought they’d hurt us. But I heard you asking Mr. Tomwise about Alina, and… and Papa says you’re really strong, and…”

“When was this, Jana?”

“Last night.”

“Oh, ma serannas, da’len. Run home now, and stay in,” Velanna rose as the child scampered down a nearby passage.

The Warden barely spared a glance at the others before starting in the direction the child had pointed. She was already several feet ahead when she called over her shoulder, “Come on! Before they take her away!”

The group ran after her, speeding past a few lurking humans and elves eyeing them from the walls. They made their way down the main passage and through a low doorway toward a few old mining tunnels, most of which were closed off by rusting carts and rubble. Velanna immediately ducked into the only open one, throwing up a wisp as an afterthought to light the way ahead of her. One after another, the group crouched down and stepped into the tunnel behind her. Barely a few feet in, Aveline heard a few squeaks, then felt two rats scurry over her boots and back into the darkness. She groaned in disgust. Did slavers always have to choose the dirtiest, foulest holes for…?

The thought gave her pause. Unbidden, the image of a line of elves flashed through her thoughts, heads bowed, feet bare, being pushed and barked at as they plunged through the darkness, tied together. She bit her lip, glancing up at the bobbing light illuminating Velanna’s hair, then back at Fenris, picking his way through the mud behind her.

Slavery had seemed like a strange, dark part of old tales, nothing more, in Fereldan. The elves certainly lived in no luxury, packed together behind iron gates and high walls in dirty corners of Fereldan’s cities, but trying to picture them as slaves seemed… fanciful. A sad blemish on an already blood-soaked history. It wasn’t until she came to Kirkwall, following Hawke through the docks and dank tunnels like this one on Athenril’s smuggling jobs, that she realized the truth. Whispers of elves disappearing down back alleys, in Darktown, sometimes straight out of the alienage. Overheard chats about the pretty pennies made wrangling for Tevinter.

But if she’s honest, she didn’t really believe it until she started with the guard. She often heard them trading patrol stories, and they talked of arresting or killing slaver bands in the same breath as raiders or thieves — commonplace, expected, just an average day on the job. Slavery was legal in Tevinter, after all, surely she knew that? And then there was that night in the alienage a few weeks ago, the night they met Fenris. He spoke of his life in slavery with the kind of anger that ran deep, simmering over long years in silent hatred. Their marks were left on his very flesh, and not simply the scars of whips or chains.

There had to be  _something_  they could do to stop this.

But what? The guard was spread thin as it was, and they intervened when they happened to be present, or catch wind of a plot, but Guard-Captain Jeven thought patrols through Darktown a waste of time. It would take a whole army to face all the criminals waiting in the sprawling tunnels and sewers. And unless the Viscount wanted to send one, they would leave well enough alone, and pick off the groups as they could. Aveline’s jaw tightened.

“Hush!” Velanna hissed, stopping suddenly as they neared the other end of the tunnel. “I hear voices.”

Shouting could be heard from ahead of them, but the words were indistinct. They crept closer, stepping carefully to keep the mud from squelching under their feet. When they reached the opening at the end of the passage, they could see a wide, high-ceilinged room with crates and barrels stacked along the walls. It looked like a warehouse, with a dock at the head of the room, opening out onto the sea. A small ship waited there, and several men were pushing a line of elves toward the hull, growling at them to keep moving.

“Let us go!”

“Please don’t do this!”

“I want Mama! Please!”

Velanna leapt out of the passageway, reaching for her staff and she ran toward the ship. “Let them go, shemlen scum!”

“Miss Velanna!” one girl cried. The slavers whirled around.

Hawke followed after Velanna, his staff ready, and the others ran quickly behind him. One of the slavers curled his lip, turning away from the ship and folding his arms across his chest. “Well lookie here, boys. Looks like someone took a wrong turn. You’re too late.”

Another man, this one in mage robes, grabbed the elf girl who had cried out, slipping a dagger up to her throat and flashing Velanna a dark grin. The first slaver mimicked the expression. “So I suggest you leave before someone gets hurt.”

Hawke opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short as Velanna cried out, “No!”

Collapsing to her knees, she threw her hands up to grip her head, writhing for several seconds as if in pain. Then her head shot up, her eyes glowing with a brilliant green light. It quickly spread all over her body in strange patterns that reminded Aveline of tree roots. In a thunderous voice far deeper than Velanna’s own, the Warden growled, “ _You will never harm another elf as you have these_!”

 

[ ](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com/post/75548495335/redraw-2-velanna-boogaloo)

 

For a moment, no one moved. The slavers gaped at her, and one turned to run. Before he could take more than a few steps, however, a burst of energy from Velanna’s staff struck his back and sent him flying into the wall. The slaver mage, staring at Velanna with wide eyes, lowered the dagger from the girl’s throat in surprise. Then he looked down at her, mumbled something about “not hurtin’ the goods,” and grabbed her hand instead, slicing her palm. The elf cried out as the blood began to swirl grotesquely around them.

Not waiting to see more, Aveline rushed forward with a loud cry, slamming her shield into the nearest man’s chest while she swung her sword at another. In a flash of blue barely a second later, Fenris was at her side, slicing through a few more men that appeared from the ship’s hull. Hawke sent tendrils of fire around one side of the group while Velanna threw a surge of rocks through the ground on the other. Varric sent a rain of arrows into the air, and then began picking off the stragglers. They dodged the powerful energy thrown from the blood mage as they fought until Fenris and Aveline reached him together. In a flurry of magic and metal, they all made short work of the rest of the men, and the last fell with a strangled cry.

Aveline immediately ran to the elves, who were watching the group with wide, frightened eyes. She put the rope to her sword, sawing through the thick bonds until they fell away. A few elves shrunk back from Velanna, while others watched her curiously. Alina, clutching her hand, said tiredly, “M-miss Velanna?”

Aveline turned to where the Warden stood, panting. The glow had dissipated, and she stood as before, leaning a little against her staff. At the girl’s voice, her head snapped up, and she ran forward.

“Oh Alina! I thought the worst. Oh, you’re hurt!” she said.

“Here,” Aveline pulled a handkerchief from her belt pouch, handing it to Velanna. Velanna plucked a small vial from her own pouch, wetting the handkerchief with it before wrapping it tightly around the girl’s hand.

“What…. what did you do?” Alina asked, leaning slightly against Velanna. The color had drained from her face, and she seemed breathless. “That voice was so strange… was it… was it old magic? Like you were telling us about?”

“Yes, what  _was_  that? That whole…angry glowing bit?” Hawke asked, his brow furrowing.

Velanna’s eyes flickered to Hawke, then back to Alina. “It… it’s not old magic. I have some… unique circumstances.” She looked up at the other elves, a mixture of emotions across their faces. “It’s nothing to fear, I promise.”

Though a few seemed unconvinced, most gradually seemed more in awe than anything else. Velanna turned back to Alina. “How did they get you? What happened?”

“I went to visit Tomwise, like you asked. But on my way home, someone appeared out of a passage I didn’t even notice was there, and they grabbed me. They were too strong, they were pulling me in and I couldn’t…” Alina closed her eyes, pausing here and there as she spoke to catch her breath.

“It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, Alina,” Velanna bowed her head, gripping the girl’s shoulders.

“We should get them out of here,” Hawke said gently, and Velanna looked up, startled out of her thoughts, before nodding slowly. Aveline watched her curiously as they led the elves away.


	3. Speak to Velanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is a little bit shorter, but I wanted it to be on its own. Velanna explains her "special circumstances" with Justice!

 

Storytelling was a subtle art, and Varric Tethras had an instinct for it. Growing up a surface dwarf in a den of under-dwellers stacked up more stories than Varric’s pen could ever wrangle, of course, yet more than that was just growing up a _dwarf_. The nearest he could figure it, it was an accident of blood. Dwarves were masters of “honeyed words” and persuasion -- his father often said that reading people was a better skill than reading books. Though it hurt the writer in Varric to admit it, there was some truth to it. More than once, Bartrand grumbled that Varric ought to have been born an Orzammar king, the way he could “play words like a violin.” (Varric still hadn’t worked out whether that was an insult or a compliment; knowing Bartrand, it was both.) Still, politics might as well have been Ancient Dwarvish for all the interest it held for Varric. But people? Ah, now there was a language he understood. The endless vocabulary of tone and twitch, words carefully and carelessly chosen, and every snort, smile, and shiver. And _that_ was the key, with stories. Most writers went looking for the adventure first, but Varric knew people were their own fascinating tales.

Maybe that was why Varric liked Hawke. While the dwarf had the nose for stories, Hawke had the unusual charm -- or downright unshakable won’t-take-no-for-an-answer tenacity -- to get them out of people. And Varric knew by Hawke’s tightening jaw and steady gaze that he wasn’t leaving the little hovel in the alienage until he did just that.

For her part, the Warden seemed paler and a little shaky, though her color returned when the deep wood smell of her home filled their lungs. She walked to her desk at the far side of the room. Leaning her staff there, she began sifting through papers.

Varric noticed she'd straightened the room since last night, putting the books in measured stacks next to carefully piled parchments, with quills and ink in little baskets at each table's center. The wax had been trimmed from the candles, though many still burned low. He also saw several small pots of little herbs and flowers he'd overlooked before, in the dim light. It was a surprisingly welcoming place for such a guarded person to live.

Velanna walked to her desk at the far side of the room. Leaning her staff there, she began sifting through another pile of papers. "Here, your map," she said after a moment, turning. She thrust a worn piece of parchment into Hawke's hands. Deep creases ran across its face, with one or two tears beginning near the top, but the ink had not faded. The map held every branch of the Deep Roads winding beneath the Free Marches.

"This is... perfect," Hawke said, looking at Varric with a grin.

"It should be everything you need. Now, thank you for your help, but if you'd just--" She gestured toward the door.

Hawke raised his eyes from the map, cocking his head. "You don't think you owe us an explanation?"

Varric couldn't decide whether he found it amusing or unsettling that Fenris and Aveline folded their arms and frowned nearly in sync. The Warden's lips tightened into a scowl as she eyed them.

"I told you before, it's none of your concern, _shem_ ," she snapped. "Your help with Alina was appreciated. You have your maps, now go!"

Hawke remained still, saying evenly, "That wasn't normal magic you did back there. We willingly risked ourselves to save your friend. I think we deserve to know how much danger we were in, exactly. Are you a--"

"No!" she said quickly, then pursed her lips and looked away. "No. Not exactly. It's... it's..."

She ventured a glance at Hawke, then sighed. "Fine. You... fine. I'll tell you. But it's not easy to explain."

She took a few steps toward the table near her, running her fingers over a page in an open book there, as if trying to draw the words from it. "Not long after I became a Grey Warden, when I was in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice who was trapped outside the Veil -- the... Fade, as you call it. He... began to work with us, and we became friends, I suppose. He recognized the injustice that elves in Thedas face every day."

"And this is... different than a demon?" Hawke said. Varric didn't have to look at him to know his eyebrow was migrating toward his hairline.

Velanna looked up. "My people do not distinguish spirits as yours do. Our understanding of them is not so... narrow. Some spirits are more attracted to mortal sins, true, but some not so. As you would see it, Justice is not a 'demon,' he is an embodiment of a virtue. Spirits like him are children of the Creators, but they do not often interfere with mortals."

Hawke looked a bit confused, then frowned. "So...what does this have to do with your eyes glowing?"

"To live outside the Veil, he needed a host. I... offered myself. We were going to work together, bring justice to every child ever ripped away from her mother to be sold into slavery," her voice rose as she spoke, and she began to pace. Then she paused and looked down at the table. "But... perhaps my anger, my feelings were... well, once he entered in, he... changed."

"So," Hawke held up his hands, "You have a spirit of Justice... living in your head?"

The movement was small, barely noticable, but Varric saw Fenris tense, and his frown deepened. Aveline shifted uncomfortably, her brow creased. But Velanna shook her head.

"No, it's not that simple. It's not like we just... sit around chatting in my head all day!" she grumbled, her fingers curling into a frustrated fist. "He's... he's part of me now. I feel his thoughts like they're my own." She turned to the table again, staring down at the book. "Not even the greatest scholar could tell you where I end and he begins."

"I suppose... trying to help a friend is... an honorable intention," Aveline remarked diplomatically after a moment of silence.

"Of course," Fenris finally spoke up, "no harm ever comes from good intentions when magic is involved."

Aveline sighed, glancing at Hawke. "He has a point."

Hawke looked to his companions, shifting slightly. "It... really didn't look like a happy, benevolent spirit from where I was standing."

Velanna scowled at them. "Since when is justice happy?!" she growled. "Justice is righteous! Justice is hard!"

She stopped, closing her eyes to calm herself. "Anyway, I told you, inside of me, he... changed. I did want to help him, but merging with me... my feelings affected him somehow. Justice thought he could overcome them, but..."

She shook her head. Hawke watched her, waiting a moment, but when she didn't speak, he urged, "What do you mean?"

For a moment Varric thought she would lash out again, but then moment passed, and she sighed.

"Things that I see the humans doing against elves, or slavers, criminals... things that always outraged me before, now he comes out, and he is... he's become... like a force of vengeance, without mercy." Her mouth twisted as she looked up at Hawke, and she squared her shoulders. "Are you satisfied?"

"Can Justice ever be separated from you?" Hawke said, his voice softening.

"I don't... know," she said, and Varric wondered why she sounded defensive. "I don't think so. The only way I've ever heard of severing a spirit from a living host is death. So, all I can do now is... control it."

" _Can you_?" Hawke said, and when she fixed him with a glare, he added quickly, "Can you... bring him out at will?"

"You are incredibly nosy, aren't you?" Velanna said.

"One of my many charms."

Velanna scoffed. "No, I can't bring him out at will, he comes only when I've..."

She hesitated, but Hawke said, "When you've what?"

"When I've lost all control over myself, all right?" she said.

"Wow," Hawke said, "Your problems make mine seem small."

Velanna raised her chin. "So, is it off to the Templars with me? Will I find the guard on my doorstep?" She gave Aveline a pointed look, then seemed startled when Hawke laughed.

"Well, I'd have to turn myself in with you, wouldn't I?" he jerked his head toward the staff at his back. "And that would make it difficult to help elf maidens in distress."

The Warden blinked several times, then her eyes narrowed. "Well don't go spreading around what I've told you--"

Hawke raised his palms. "If anyone hears about it, it won't be from me. We Fereldans have to stick together."

Velanna looked up. "You... are Fereldan?"

"From Lothering, to the south," Hawke said.

She nodded. "My clan spent time near there."

"Listen, Warden...if you need help again, we're often at the Hanged Man," Hawke said with a slight shrug. Velanna looked at him with surprise, as did Aveline and Fenris.

"Er... ma serannas, serah," Velanna said.

Hawke nodded once, then turned toward the door. Varric lingered behind as they went, waving Hawke away when he paused for him at the door. Not everyone was an easy read, but Varric could already tell that this elf had long, dark chapters written in the dark circles under her eyes. If the whole possessed, tortured soul story hadn't given it away, that is. And what could he say? He liked a good story.

"Something you need, dwarf?" Velanna raised an eyebrow.

"He's not a bad guy, you know," said Varric, "For a human."

"I'll... keep that in mind. Anything else?"

Varric leaned on one of the chairs, crossing one boot over the other. "The expedition we're planning? It's still open."

"What interest is that to me?"

"There's no one like a Warden for handling darkspawn, so I'm told, and there's a lot of coin in the prospect."

"Because elves are always desperate for coin," Velanna said, glaring.

" _Everyone_ is desperate for coin. Nobles with enough gold to swim in are desperate for coin," Varric countered. "But I was thinking it might help your little setup here." He gestured around the room, then swept his eyes back to Velanna. "We're doing odd jobs around town to fund it. You could join us, see what you think."

Velanna eyed him a moment, then said quietly, "You want a possessed mage in your expedition? How do you know I'm not going to kill you? Or get you in trouble? Or leave you down there?"

"Are your maps designed to trick us too? And this place is really a cover for an assassin ring?" Varric smirked. "Leaving us to die with darkspawn would hardly be _just_."

Velanna held his gaze a moment, then let out a long breath. "I've been to the Deep Roads, dwarf, I've seen what stalks the dark. I have no desire to see it again."

"As you wish," Varric said, "Just an invitation. Here's a better one: come by the Hanged Man some time and I'll buy you a drink."

"Why?"

"Because you could use one."

Varric would swear on his best pair of boots that her mouth twitched in the general direction of a smirk.

"Farewell, dwarf,” she said

"A good evening, Warden."


	4. Fresh Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have such a soft spot for Carver, and for Carver and Hawke just being... silly brothers, so here's a bit of that. Not so much action in this chapter, but it will come.

“You’re shitting me,” Varric leaned forward over the table, then sat back with a thump when the Hawke brothers shook their heads. He reached for his pint, dragging it closer over the table.

The Hanged Man was busy for the early afternoon. Laughter and good-natured shouting rang out from the tables around them, and barmaids flitted between them. Though not everyone was enjoying themselves; if one more barmaid hit the back of his head with her tray, Carver was tempted to trip her and send the damn tray flying.

“I knew Gamlen was a rat,” Aveline said, drawing Carver’s attention back as she rubbed her forehead, “But to steal all the family money? That’s low, even for him.”

Beside Carver, Garrett sighed and took a drink. “I’m not certain which is worse, really: knowing Gamlen lied and squandered everything, or finding the house crawling with slavers.”

“Slavers?!” the group cried, even Fenris, who’d hunched silently on the far side of the table since arriving. Their voices drew several stares from neighboring tables, and Garrett motioned his friends quiet.

“Yes, slavers,” he said, lowering his voice.

“A whole den of them,” Carver added.

“Were there slaves?” Fenris asked. Garrett shook his head.

“I imagine there were once,” he said, frowning, “The cellars are... vast. But it will not happen again.”

“Killed the lot?” Varric smirked.

“Better than they deserved,” Garrett said, still frowning at his ale.

Carver noticed a strange expression on Fenris’s face, a pinch of his lips caught somewhere between disbelief and curiosity. Carver raised his chin toward the elf, gesturing with his flagon. “It’s true! Their blood whips were everywhe--OW! Maker’s balls, can’t you people watch where you’re going?”

He rubbed his head, glaring at the barmaid’s back as she glided away, calling an apology over her shoulders. He drew his hand to his face, checking his fingers dramatically for blood. Garrett rolled his eyes.

“I... believe you,” Fenris said, but his expression remained.

“Probably best to leave that part out of the story you tell Leandra,” Aveline said.

“Oh, we did,” said Garrett. He reached over and ruffled Carver’s hair when Carver went to check his head once more for blood, earning himself a thoroughly sour look and smack on the arm.

“She was angry enough at Uncle Gamlen anyway,” Carver said with another dark look at Garrett, who just laughed.

“Better stow that will somewhere safe, Hawke,” Varric said, “Or the sneaky bastard might steal away again and burn it.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Garrett reached for his belt pouch, “The reason I asked you here.”

“So I should stop hoping it was for a bad drink and a good game of cards?” Varric said. When Aveline raised an eyebrow, he added, “And by cards I of course mean a completely gambling-free game of Go Fish?”

“As thrilling as that sounds,” Garrett said, “I was thinking ‘Go Hike.’”

Garrett plucked something from his pouch and tossed it to Varric. The dwarf caught it easily and opened his palms to reveal a small silver amulet with a deep red jewel at its heart.

“I’m touched, Hawke, but my birthday was last month,” he said. Garrett chuckled.

“I was putting the will away in our lockbox and found that. I’d almost forgotten about it,” he said. “Better a year late than never, I suppose.”

Aveline straightened. “That isn’t--”

“It is,” Carver said, gulping down the last of his ale.

“I can’t believe you still have it,” she said.

“I would be one happy dwarf if you’d tell me we’re taking this to market to get the rest of the expedition money,” Varric said. He tossed the necklace back to Garrett.

“We ought to,” said Carver.

“Sadly, no. A wi-- um, a... woman we met fleeing Lothering gave it to us. She agreed to get us out if we promised to take this to the Dalish.”

“The Dalish?” Varric said. “They’re all the way up Sundermount! Or so the rumor is. What, she have a travelling elf sweetheart or something?”

Garrett snorted. “Not this one. Anyway, I figured we could all use a little fresh air. What do you say?”

“I can’t believe you’re actually going through with it,” Carver shook his head. “She’s all the way back in Ferelden, she’ll never know the difference, and we need the money.”

“Carver...” Garrett gave him a pointed look.

“He has a point, Hawke,” Varric said.

“I don’t think she was someone to... be trifled with,” Aveline said carefully.

“I agree,” Garrett said, tossing another look at Carver, who huffed and crossed his arms.

At that moment, a voice called over the tavern din. “Dwarf!”

The group looked up in unison to find the blonde elf from the alienage standing near the table. She was wringing her hands, her shoulders drawn in tight to keep space between her and the other patrons. “Dwarf,” she said again, “You... it is _you_ , isn’t it?”

An amused grin spread over Varric’s lips. “I generally prefer Varric, but I’m not picky.”

She glanced around her and then stepped closer. “I... reconsidered your offer.”

“Well, the Hanged Man doesn’t have much to offer, but pick whatever you’d like and pull up a chair!”

“No, I... not the drink, I meant... about the Deep Roads,” she waved her hand. Carver stared at Varric in surprise, then glanced around the table to find the others mirroring his face.

Varric shrugged at them. “What? She’s a _Warden_ , that set of skills is invaluable underground.”

“That’s not all she is,” Fenris grumbled, narrowing his eyes at her. She returned the look evenly.

“Fine, I knew this was a bad idea,” she said, spinning on her heel.

“Just wait a minute there, Blondie,” Varric called, and Carver was surprised to see that she did. Or she may have stopped to keep from colliding with a passing patron, who yelled at her to watch herself. Varric turned to Garrett.

“Listen, Hawke, I know she’s strange and maybe a bit dangerous--”

“She’s an abomination,” Fenris said, but Varric waved him off.

“I know, Elf, but think about it. The maps are good, but having someone to sense darkspawn is better. That spirit or whatever it was didn’t seem interested in us, and it’d be formidable down there.

“And if it does take an interest in us?” Fenris persisted. “It could kill us all.”

“I agree, this is foolish,” Carver said.

“Look, give her a shot before we go down there, see what she can do. If she turns, well, we’ve handled abominations a few times. You can kill her yourself, Elf.”

Fenris shook his head. “Do as you will, but this is unwise.”

Carver half-expected him to get up and leave, but the elf simply crossed his arms and sat back, glowering. Garrett cleared his throat.

“If you... really think it’s worth it, I’m willing to give her a chance,” he said to Varric.

Varric smiled and turned back to the Warden, who was glaring at everyone who passed near her. Varric beckoned her over. “Come on, Blondie, take a seat.”

“My _name_ is Velanna,” she said tightly, but stalked over anyway, taking the empty seat next to Aveline.

“ ‘Course it is,” Varric said. “And I think you know everyone here. Hawke was just trying to convince us to climb up Sundermount.”

“Sundermount? On... the coast?” she said, shaking her head when Varric gestured to his drink.

“I have a delivery to make to the Dalish there,” Garrett explained.

“An outsider like you?” Velanna straightened. “They will not let you pass.”

Garrett shrugged as a barmaid set another pint in front of him. “Well, then, I’ll just sell it like everyone wants me to. But I promised to try, so I will.”

“You are foolhardy,” Velanna said, but Carver caught a flicker of something besides annoyance on her face. “The Dalish do not take kindly to visits from shem. At least take an elf with you.”

“I don’t suppose that’s you volunteering?” Garrett said with a smile.

“I...” she went rigid, looking away. “I am... not the best person to ask.”

“Why not? They certainly wouldn’t harm another Dalish,” said Garrett, “Who could be better? And I can already tell Varric is working on his excuses, anyway.”

“Sorry, Hawke. Dwarves are better under mountains, not on top of them. Legs aren’t really made for it.”

“Bullshit!” Garrett laughed. “How else did you build all those cities?”

“Like I said, _under_  the mountains,” Varric replied.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to bow out as well, Hawke,” Aveline said, pushing her chair back. “I’m on duty in an hour.”

“Fenris?” Garrett turned his head.

“If you have need of me, I will go,” he said, surprising both brothers.

“Well,” Garrett said, “There you are. Two elves! This can’t possibly go wrong.”

Fenris shook his head.

 

* * *

****

The elves and the Hawke brothers set off less than an hour later, picking their way through the crowd in the Lowtown market and finally pushing outside the city. They walked until even the merchant carts rocking through the gravel grew few, and the road emptied before them. The sun was high, but the breeze kept the heat from rising, even as it blew loose sand toward them from the road’s edge.

“Blasted sand, I don’t know how these Free Marchers stand it!” Carver grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

“It _does_ get everywhere,” Velanna agreed, curling her lip at the ground.

“Who would have thought I could miss the Ferelden mud this much?” Garrett said with a laugh.

“At least that washes off,” said Carver. He tugged the neck of his tunic higher.

Fenris picked his way around a few sharp pebbles, mindful of his bare feet, and glanced up at Garrett. “Does it really smell of wet dog? That’s the only description I ever hear of Ferelden.”

“Only among the humans,” Velanna said, and Fenris huffed something close to a laugh in spite of himself.

“It’s a very noble smell!” insisted Garrett, smiling.

“I do miss the smell of the food,” Carver said, squinting against the breeze. “Passing by the taverns a smelling the stew and the ale... haven’t had a proper stew in ages!”

“I miss the meat fresh off of the fire,” Velanna said. She brushed a low tree branch out of her way, then cast a lingering look up through the leaves.

“You’re all making me terribly hungry, and if we have to walk back to Kirkwall listening to my stomach growl, it won’t be my fault,” Garrett said.

“It does that anyway, brother,” Carver reached over to pat Garrett’s stomach. “It’s no wonder you wanted the exercise out here.”

Garrett shoved him away and Carver laughed, stumbling a bit in the sand. He caught the elves smirking at them as he righted himself. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

They walked in silence for awhile, and the hills began to rise higher around them. The sand and gravel turned further around the mountain’s base toward the sea, where the breeze grew cooler and salty. The group followed a dirt path that cut away from the sand and led them further into the hills, where they could see the mountain stretching high above them, and several peaks beyond. A few scrubby trees dotted the hillside, nothing like the thick pines covering the Ferelden mountains.

As they began to hike up the mountainside, Carver heard Velanna ask quietly behind him, “You aren’t of the Dalish, are you... Fenris?”

“No,” Fenris said tersely.

“I thought not, but I have never seen a city elf with markings like vallaslin, unless they were once of the Dalish.”

“These are not your vallaslin. They are lyrium, burned into my flesh by my former master, in a ritual I remember only for the agony it caused me,” Fenris growled.

“O-oh. You... were a slave?”

“Yes. To a magister in Tevinter,” said Fenris. Carver thought he might spit on the ground after, the way his words dripped with hate.

“I’m... so sorry,” she said. “That must have been terrible.”

“You cannot imagine.”

Both fell silent. They climbed along the path for awhile before Carver could stand the tension no longer. “You know, Fenris, I have a tattoo.”

Beside him, Garrett threw a hand over his face. Carver ignored him.

“You have a what?” Fenris looked up.

“A tattoo. A lot of us got them before Ostagar. It’s a mabari. For strength,” Carver glanced back.

Fenris curled his lip. “Does it curse you with the ability to reach into a man and tear out his insides?”

“Uh,” Carver shrugged, noticing Velanna recoil visibly, “I can make it bark.”

“Please don’t,” Fenris said.

“Yes, refrain,” Velanna added, still glancing sidelong at Fenris.

Garrett sighed heavily, his familiar Carver-weary sigh, and swatted his brother on the side of the head.

“Hey!” Carver yelped, covering his hair, but even he might admit he should have just let the silence stretch.

Ahead of them, Sundermount’s peak loomed.

 


	5. Long Way Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken longer to get this chapter up! I had a lot of different ideas for it and had to rein myself in from cramming them all into one place. It's more slow-going than I anticipated but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thank you so much for all the encouragement.

Velanna knew she was staring. As they carefully picked and climbed their way over the mountain’s dark rocks, she peeked out from the fringe in her eyes at Fenris’s markings. They coiled around the back of his arms like vines, stark white patterns against sun-browned skin. She thought them strange when she first saw him, maybe some mimicry of Dalish vallaslin, as she’d asked him. She knew the humans were sometimes fond of marking themselves like that, though never so extensive, in her experience. That they could be the unwanted brands of a life in slavery never so much as crossed her mind.

She stared. She held no illusions about the harsh life of slaves, though the blessing of the Creators kept her from it. She heard stories passed around the alienage, stories that fueled the ever-growing fire of rage in her gut, whispered like gossip in the market or murmured in the darker corners, out of earshot of playing children. But nothing like this. Nothing like this. A ritual, he said it was, burning lyrium white-hot to his skin. A ritual. Who could be so cruel? And why? What purpose could it serve? She dare not ask again, not yet. But to imagine...

 _Unjust._  The word reverberated through her, making her shudder. She felt the uncomfortable heat of Justice waking and shifting, eager and angered, in her thoughts, and she looked away from the markings.

_Not now._

She cast her eyes aimlessly over the mountainside to calm her mind, trying to breathe deeply. She walked behind the others, gracefully stepping around the sharp rocks jutting through the dirt. The air was thinning, and it was only a few more winding slopes before the path evened, cutting suddenly further from the edge toward the heart. The peak was nearer now, and clouds rolled in like a strange sort of crown about the rock. Then, as they rounded another high ledge, they saw ruins spread over a flatter, grassy stretch. They were old structures, barely four blocks tall at the highest wall, and all gray stone bitten down to nothing by wind and time. They hinted at rooms once standing in the summit’s shadow. She read once that a great battle of elves and men had bloodied these grounds, but the only whispers were these forgotten blocks long ago broken to rubble. Much like the elves themselves, she thought bitterly.

Velanna could hear Hawke murmuring something to Carver ahead of her, and Carver answering, pointing to the ruins. They talked quietly. Fenris kept his eyes on his feet. Ahead of them, the Dalish encampment lay not far beyond the ruins. Long red banners fluttered in the breeze near two low-reaching arms of rock.

“Hold, shemlen!”

Two elves clad in thick green leather and chainmail stepped before the group as they passed between the banners. They fixed the Hawke brothers with cold glares.

“Your kind are not welcome among the Dalish.”

As they paused, Hawke glanced over his shoulder at Velanna. “What even  _is_  a ‘shemlen’? I’ve been called that so many times in the last week, I might as well know what it means.”

She stared at him. The human completely ignored the Dalish threats and the elves behind them to ask such an inane question? She couldn’t decide whether it was unbearably rude, painfully foolhardy, or strikingly bold. Why had she agreed to this? By the time she landed between rude and foolhardy, Fenris rumbled an answer next to her.

“It is the elven word for ‘human.’”

True, but only by half, as that made it sound far less like the insult it was usually meant as.

“It means you’re not one of the People, and you should leave,” the elf said. That sounded more like it.

“I’m not expecting tea and cakes,” Hawke replied, and Velanna stiffened. He was definitely skirting closer to simply rude. “I just need to see someone.”

“There is nothing here for any human,” said the elf.

Oh, she knew that look.

“Wait,” she said, before she could think better of it, and before the elf could raise his bow.

All eyes turned to her as Hawke and Carver stepped aside. The elf who had not yet spoken furrowed her eyebrows at Velanna, but the other looked at her with recognition. Smug recognition.

“So you return,” he said.

Hawke’s head whipped up. “Was this... your clan?”

“No,” she said tightly without looking at him. To the Dalish, she said, “We come on business. The humans bear no ill will.”

“Do they not?” the elf said, his lips quirking.

Her jaw tightened. She felt her skin prickling, hot and itchy under so many eyes. A part of her wanted to tell the Dalish to do as they would and the humans to forget their errand. They hadn’t even given her the chance to refuse joining them, really. But another part of her, with a voice suspiciously like Justice’s, told her to remember their easy help. The party stared at her, expectant, as did the Dalish, the humans waiting for her to utter the magic words of safe passage (as if there were such a thing), while the elves looked down on her, suspicious of her company and her intentions. It felt overwhelmingly strange to find herself standing between them. She swallowed against the bitter taste in the back of her throat.

“The Keeper does not welcome you here,” the elf said at last, and Velanna couldn’t tell if he meant the lot of them, or just her. She opened her mouth, not entirely certain what was going to tumble out of it, but before she could speak, the second elf interrupted.

“Wait... I think this is the one the Keeper spoke of,” she said, staring now at Hawke.

“A shemlen?” her companion replied. “I thought he’d be an elf.”

They exchanged a look, and then the first elf sighed and stepped back. “We will suffer you, strangers, as the Keeper has been waiting for you. But cause trouble, you’ll meet our blades.”

His gaze lingered once more on Velanna, and she glowered at him. But they were allowed to pass, and walked further into the camp. The sight of the aravels circling the grassy knoll, and the Dalish milling among them, did nothing to calm Velanna, however. Longing clenched in her chest and chased away her annoyance as she stared up at the aravels. The heady scent of wood and spice floated over from the fire. She heard bits of the old tongue as the elves passed by, spoken easily the way it never was in the alienage, and it might as well have been music. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, just to dream of somewhere else, of something like home...

“Andaran atish’an, travelers.”

Once it was, but no more. She opened her eyes to find the Keeper standing before them, the gold of her vallaslin glittering faintly in the firelight.

“Marethari?” Hawke asked, and when she nodded, he said, “I was told to bring you this amulet.”

She took it carefully from his hands, turning it over and back, then raised her eyes to him again. “Let me look at you.”

Hawke took a slow step forward, and Velanna watched Marethari examine him even more carefully than she had the amulet. Velanna fought the urge to flinch back before she could become the object of that gaze.

“There is truth in your face,” the Keeper said, after a moment. “A rare thing in a human. Tell me--”

But she stopped then, at last noticing Velanna. She inclined her head. “Andaran atish’an, Velanna. It seems our paths cross again.”

“Anderan atish’an, Keeper,” Velanna said quietly. “We will not trouble you long.”

She wasn’t certain if she meant “we” or “I.”

“It seems this is truly the will of the Creators,” Marethari said, looking at her thoughtfully. Before Velanna could ask her meaning, the Keeper turned back to Hawke. “Tell me how this bauble fell to you, child.”

“Your guards said you spoke of me,” Hawke said. “How did you know I was coming?”

Velanna stiffened again. The human seemed completely oblivious to the right way of conversation--answering directly, acknowledging what was said--and Velanna struggled to decide whether it was ignorance or indifference. Marethari, however, seemed unfazed. It struck the Warden, and not for the first time, how different Marethari was from her own Keeper, Ilshae.

“I listened,” Marethari said, her voice lilting now, “To the wind. To the birds, as the hunters do. To my dreams. I watched the stars. There is great wisdom to be found all around us, if you know how to listen for it. But, I was not certain. Nothing is certain.”

Her eyes strayed again to Velanna as she spoke. Velanna forced herself to hold the Keeper’s gaze.

“Exactly what have I been carrying around? Is it magic?” Hawke said, gesturing to the amulet.

“It is a promise, child, made by one whose words still hold weight, and therefore, it has terrible power. There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept. Remember that.”

Hawke had more questions, but Velanna was no longer listening. She looked beyond the Keeper, past the mountain ledge bending upward above them, to an outcropping she knew hid a small cave opening.

There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept. How dangerously true.

“Are you coming, Velanna?”

Hawke’s voice shook her from her thoughts and she turned back to him, snapping, “What?”

“Up to the peak? For the ritual?” Hawke quirked his head. “The Keeper just asked us to take the amulet to the summit with her First.”

“Right, naturally,” she said quickly. Hawke and Carver walked ahead once more, leading them up a rising hill, and Velanna fell into step behind Fenris.

They found the First curled up with her back to the rock, and she stood only when they drew close. Velanna remembered her, a little--the short black hair and the endlessly shuffling feet.

“You must be the one the Keeper told me about. Aneth ara!” she said cheerfully, then her eyes widened. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t ask your name! It’s not rude to ask a human their name, is it? I’m Merrill, which you probably knew already. I’m rambling, sorry.” Before Hawke could answer, she saw Velanna there, and smiled again. “Oh, Anetha ara!”

Velanna felt taken aback by the easy greeting, given the suspicion the others afforded her. She felt herself grinning, just a little bit, and she answered in kind.

“I’m terribly sorry, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name. Oh! And I asked yours,” she turned back to Hawke, “And completely forgot to let you answer. You must think me horribly rude.”

“You seem awfully nervous,” Hawke said, not without amusement.

“I’ve never met a human before,” Merrill confessed. “Dalish mothers frighten their children with stories about you, you know. Not you, personally, of course. I’m sure they don’t have any stories about you. Or not scary ones, at least. Not that you’re not notable enough to have a story... I’ll just shut up now.”

“Everything you need to know about them is that they’re hairy, pushy, and utterly tactless,” Velanna said, folding her arms, “The good ones, anyway.”

“Tell us how you really feel!” Carver said.

“I take that very personally, you know,” Hawke added, pressing a hand to his chest. Merrill chuckled nervously, her eyes darting back and forth between the brothers and Velanna, but then Hawke grinned, and Merrill’s shoulders relaxed as he said, “I’m rather proud of those qualities.”

Velanna scoffed.

“That was hardly a proper introduction, anyway,” Hawke said, looking back at Merrill. He introduced himself and the others, adding, “Though it seems you know Velanna?”

“Only a little,” Merrill said, “She stayed with us for a time. Anyway, I’m Merrill. I am... or was, I suppose... the First to Keeper Marethari.”

Velanna regretted her reverie before the Keeper, now. “Was? You are no longer the First?”

“The Keeper asked us to escort Merrill back to Kirkwall,” Hawke said. “She... would not give a reason.”

“I have to leave. Let’s leave it at that for now, all right?” Merrill said, her voice edgy. Velanna furrowed her brow. This sounded too familiar.

“I get the feeling you’re in trouble,” said Hawke.

“It’s not like that!” Merrill said quickly, “Not exactly, anyway. The Keeper and I had disagreements, but it will sort itself out in time.”

Far, far too familiar.

“Anyway, we should go. Your task is for Asha’bellennar. It’s not wise to make her wait,” Merrill gestured further up the hill, and they began to walk.

“Asha’bellannar?” Velanna said. “That is your purpose here? I knew I should have asked before agreeing to this.”

“Who is this person?” Fenris asked.

“We knew her as the Witch of the Wilds,” said Carver with a slight huff.

“A witch?” Fenris stopped short. “You had dealings with a witch?”

Hawke sighed. “We were running for our lives out of Lothering, and she happened to save us. She asked for this errand in return.”

“And you trust her?” Fenris demanded.

“Honestly, it wasn’t much of a matter of whether or not we trusted her. It was accept her help, or die at the hands of the darkspawn,” Hawke said.

“Oh, that’s right! You’re from Ferelden, aren’t you?” said Merrill, before Fenris could protest further. “I spent most of my life there. We only came north a few years ago. Have you been in the Free Marches long? Do you like it here?”

“We were just reminiscing about the cold and the dirt on the way here. Kirkwall’s not brown enough for me,” laughed Hawke, “But hey! No darkspawn.”

“Ferelden wasn’t that brown! The dirt and muck gave it character,” Merrill said, making Hawke laugh again.

The conversation drew abruptly short as a strange noise sounded ahead of them. Several twitching, bony creatures rose from the ground near another set of ruins, hissing at the group. Swords flashed and bows creaked in their skeletal hands.

“I do so love a welcome party,” Hawke said, his staff already in hand.

Intimidating as they looked, the strange creatures were easily dispatched. Carver and Fenris charged at them with greatswords lifted while the air around them crackled with magic. In no time at all, they were surrounded only by ash and bone. Velanna couldn’t help flashing Merrill a small grin. It felt nice to fight alongside someone who knew the Dalish traditions of magic. Merrill smiled shyly in return.

“The Keeper didn’t mention you were a mage.”

Hawke was eyeing Merrill with interest, and Velanna looked at him with confusion. Wasn’t it obvious? Fenris muttered something under his breath to Carver, whose lips twitched. She fixed them both with a suspicious glare.

“All Keepers know a bit of old magic,” Merrill said. She looked sad, then. “The stories tell us that all elvhen once had the gift. But, like so many things, it was lost. It’s a Keeper’s job to remember, to restore what we can.”

Velanna looked to her, suddenly feeling her heart lift. Nothing had been more important to her since her exile from her clan than just that,  _remembering_ , restoring what the elves had lost, and teaching those who could not remember. Teaching those who never knew to begin with. She watched a moment as Merrill talked with Hawke, he asking her something about templars, she gesturing slightly, pacing a little.  _Seranni used to do that._

“I’ll try not to hit anyone!” Merrill was insisting, waving her hands in front of her. “On... on our side, I mean! I’m babbling again, let’s go.”


	6. A New Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter was so long in coming, work has been a little hectic lately and left me very drained. But, here at last, it's Fenris's turn! Plenty of brooding ahead, though this chapter comes up a bit shorter than the others, I think. Anyway, hope you enjoy it.

Few things could surprise Fenris anymore. With nearly every memory he had left filled with a slave’s life under magic’s whip, what could be surprising? He barely bothered to roll his eyes when the Dalish witch -- what was her name? Merrill -- raised a cloud of her own blood against a magical barrier. He only scoffed when she began defending demons as steadfastly as if they were ruffled kittens she found abandoned in the street. And it was honestly just his luck that the refugee mage he throws his lot in with would be carrying an evil magic amulet to bring them here in the first place. Not to mention keeping company with the abomination currently trudging down the mountain ahead of him.

He ducked beneath a few thin tree branches leaning over the pathway, frowning to himself. No, none of that was surprising. But that woman they summoned on the mountain... Woman? Witch? Soothsayer?  _Beast?_ Who could say what she was? Fenris had stood at the feet of powerful people. He had felt the greatest magic Tevinter could spit from its bowels. _She_ was power beyond their greediest dreams. And she had the nerve to be amused by it.

_Are you truly free?_

Fenris grunted, nearly dashing his foot against a stone as he thought suddenly of her question. His companions paused, looking back at him, but he scowled and waved them on.

“He’s a bit grumpy, isn’t he?” Fenris heard Merrill whisper to Velanna. “I think I may have offended him, with the... you know, on the mountain.”

Velanna glanced back at him, but Fenris cast his eyes to the road, his hair falling over his face. He did not hear her reply as she steered Merrill further away.

 _Truly free._ How could he ever be truly free when magic thrived within the walls of every town? When it wound itself like vines into so many families, so many minds, so much blood, _so much blood_? How could he ever be free where there was no refuge he might ever seek from it, and yet no way of cutting it down? How could he ever be free when that magic made the man -- the weapon -- that he was, and the only way he could fight back was some strange copy of the sordid thing itself burned into his very skin? And in that vein, when the only hope he had now of help against a mage was another mage? How could he ever be free when some treacherous voice whispered to him that he ought to keep a mage as powerful as Hawke well pleased with his service, because when it came down to it, and it _would_ , Hawke would make a kinder master than Danarius?

Fenris almost shook himself bodily against the thought. Instead he clenched his fists so hard against the impulse that the metal of his gauntlets groaned. As long as that part of him, that Maker-damned whisper, still lived somewhere inside of him where lyrium-lined fists could not reach to tear it out, he could never be free.

He thought then of the twist of disgust in Hawke’s face when the man spoke of finding his family home full of slavers. Hawke killed them all, just as he did the night he met Fenris. He killed them without hesitation. He didn’t even ask the price on Fenris’s head, though it was far greater than any coin the elf could hope to promise him. He could not reconcile that image of a mage like Hawke with the magisters he knew, with what he feared to see Hawke become, and it was...confusing. How strange to have lived all his life in a land where life without slavery was a dream, only to leave and find, through people like Hawke, that slavery itself was the nightmare.

There was a flicker of light to his side, and he glanced up to find they walked far enough to be near the sea again, its waves glinting in the sinking sun. He felt sand rising through the dirt beneath his feet. Laughter rang out ahead of him, and he looked back at his companions in time to find Hawke falling into step next to him. Fenris straightened slightly.

“What will you do?” Hawke said when he reached him, looking at him sideways.

Fenris blinked at him, head still heavy with thoughts of Tevinter, and wondered for a moment if Hawke might somehow have heard his reverie. “I’m sorry?”

Hawke jerked his head toward where Merrill and Velanna walked ahead of them, Merrill giggling at something Carver was saying. “Will you turn her in?”

It took Fenris several moments to wade back to the present and realize Hawke’s meaning. When he did, he raised his chin, looking at the mage a little harder. “If I did, are you planning to stop me?”

The corner of Hawke’s mouth quirked. “Well, my door won’t be far behind, and I’m just looking for fair warning. Mother hates it when the house is untidy for guests.”

“You would run?” Fenris said.

Hawke gave a short, sharp laugh, looking over Fenris’s head toward the sea. He squinted as a salty breeze rushed past. “A lifetime of running, only to run again? No, I wouldn’t drag Mother away from the only home she has left, and I’m in no position to help them from a distance. I couldn’t just hop a ship and leave them.” Hawke spoke more to himself than to Fenris, it seemed, until he finally looked at the elf again. “Carver’s smart enough, though don’t you ever tell him I said so, but he can’t do it all alone, any more than I could.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Fenris asked quietly.

Hawke sighed. “I just want to make sure they’re provided for, if I... if the templars... if I had that courtesy...”

“You would not fight?” Fenris looked at him with surprise.

“I’m certainly no good to them _dead_ ,” said Hawke, a wry smile on his lips. “I’m no fool, Fenris.”

For a long moment, they walked in silence, and Fenris studied Hawke’s face. He saw only exhaustion, and perhaps a little sadness. Fenris wasn’t certain what he expected to find, but whatever it was, it was not there. Hawke stared back out at the sea.

Fenris followed his gaze, and at last he said, “It’s not my affair.”

Next to him, he heard Hawke breathe a small “thank you.” Fenris turned his head slightly, not quite looking at him. “Not today, anyway.”

Hawke nodded once. They said no more, but Hawke did not move to rejoin his brother, who was telling the other elves some story that had even the Warden cracking a small smile. The city gate now stood clear ahead of them.

“Oh! Is that it? Kirkwall?” Merrill gasped when she caught sight of the gates. “But... it’s so big! Are all human cities so big?”

“Not all. There are towns and villages, they’re smaller,” Hawke said.

“Oh my. I hope I shan’t get lost... it looks like the buildings all sit on top of each other from here! How do you move around?” Merrill said.

“We just hop from rooftop to rooftop and swing in the windows,” Carver said, and Hawke pressed his lips to smother a laugh.

“That seems rather inefficient, doesn’t it? What if you missed the window and smacked right into the wall? Or what if you lost your footing, and--”

“He’s kidding, Merrill,” Hawke finally laughed.

“Oh... right,” Merrill flushed, hunching.

When they crossed through the gates, they found Varric waiting for him, idly polishing his crossbow. He quickly tucked the rag away when he caught sight of them, jogging toward them.

“Hawke! Hawke, you’ve got to co-- oh,” he stopped, his gaze falling on Merrill. “Hawke, I thought we talked about this. Elves are not souvenirs. You’re collecting too many.”

Hawke snorted. “Varric, this is Merrill. She’s coming to stay in Kirkwall.” More quietly, Fenris heard him add, “I suspect she’ll be in the market for a few friends.”

Varric nodded, then turned to Merrill, who was turning in place, craning her neck to see the tops of the buildings. “Welcome to our glorious city. Varric Tethras, resident dwarf.”

“How do you do!” she said, shaking his hand a little awkwardly, then turning her head up again. “Goodness, they just go on forever, don’t they?”

Velanna reached for her elbow, beginning to lead her toward the alienage, with Carver following closely behind. Hawke and Varric walked a little slower, and Hawke recounted the trek up the mountain. Fenris walked near them, but listened instead to Velanna and Carver trying to explain the market to the Dalish elf as they passed the stalls, which were already shuttered for the night. He grew more and more irritated as they talked, acting as if she were just any new resident joining the city and not an apostate blood mage trying to hide in plain sight.

The sunset left the streets covered in long shadows, and by the time they reached the alienage, most of the torches were lit. Merrill stopped on the steps, slowly taking in the square. Her eyes lingered on the painted tree at the center, then drifted back over the rough and dirty stone buildings.

“Elgar’nan, is this... is this really where the elves live?” she breathed, her voice hoarse with shock.

He could no longer hold his tongue and answered coldly, “Yes. This is it.”

Velanna shot him a glare, and Hawke raised an eyebrow, but he ignored both of them, folding his arms.

“I didn’t think it would be so... so...” she swallowed, then turned to look back at Hawke. “I’ve never seen so many people in one place before. It seems so lonely.”

Fenris wanted to ask what she expected, but Hawke spoke first, trying to sound cheerful. “Working your way up will be fun! ...All right, that’s a lie, it won’t be fun.”

Fenris couldn’t help frowning at Hawke, wary of his easy kindness. Merrill swallowed again, squaring her shoulders, and laughed uneasily. “Some adventurer I am. Barely set out and I’m already daunted.”

“Come on, you can stay with me a day or two, and we’ll find you a place,” Velanna said, all business now, gesturing toward her door in the far corner.

“Oh! That’s so kind of you!” Merrill said. She looked up at Hawke. “Thank you for everything, for your help. Will you come visit me? Not now, of course. But maybe later? I... could use friends.”

“I’d like that, Merill,” Hawke said, nodding.

“Thank you,” said Merrill. “Oh! I’m thanking you too much, aren’t I? I mean it, though.”

Velanna gave Hawke a short nod, and then led Merrill away. As they crossed the square, Hawke leaned toward Fenris. “You could stand to be a little nicer to her.”

Fenris curled his lip. “What sympathy do I owe her?”

“She’s displaced, like you, she has--”

“She is _nothing_ like me,” Fenris snapped. “She chose this! She clings to blood magic on some foolish errand she refuses to name, and willingly gives up home and clan in its name. She did not have to come here, to be ‘displaced’ as you put it. I see no reason to entertain her ignorance of that. She is dangerous, and she is in danger.”

Hawke opened his mouth, then slowly shut it again. Fenris folded his arms across his chest once more, frowning at the steps.

“Well! Lovely as this awkward silence is, how about we table this discussion in favor of a drink?” Varric said.

“I think I should take my leave,” said Fenris.

“No, Elf, trust me,” Varric held up a hand, “This is worth it.”

“That’s right, what _were_ you so excited about earlier?” Hawke said.

Varric grinned. “This woman blew into the Hanged Man like a storm off the sea a few hours ago, which coincidentally is what I think brought her here. Anyway, I got to chatting with her a little, and it sounds like she might have some work.”

“A pretty girl isn’t going to turn his head for anything, unless she had a strapping brother at her side,” Carver snickered, ducking as Hawke swatted at his head.

“Even you’ll appreciate this, Hawke, I promise,” Varric laughed. He then raised an eyebrow at Fenris, nodding up the stairs, and the elf sighed.

“After you.”

 


	7. Wayward Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for how long it took to get this chapter up, I had some big changes at work and then a road trip vacation, and then wrestled with writer's block for a few weeks. I have a lot of things I'm really excited for planned for this fic, so thank you for hanging in there, I hope it will be rewarding. :)

“On your left, Rivaini!” Varric called over the twang of Bianca’s bolts. Isabela swerved, leaning backward just as a shade’s claw ripped through the air beside her. She spun quickly, adjusting her hold on her daggers before slicing firmly across the strange monster’s belly. She ducked underneath another swipe of its claws and leapt behind it, stabbing into its twisted back. With a loud wail, it threw up its arms and then vanished into a cloud of mist. Isabela turned, giving Varric a wink and a small nod. The dwarf grinned in reply before sending another volley of bolts raining down on the demons surrounding Hawke and Velanna. The mages stood side by side, staffs twirling furiously as they sent blast after blast at the row of creatures clawing and growling at them. The old foundry seemed full of them, rising out of tears in the Veil invisible to their foes.

“Are we _sure_ this missing woman wasn’t a mage?” Isabela yelled over the din as she slashed at other shade.

Hawke leaned down, letting a sheet of ice burst from his fingers as he circled them in front of him, encasing several demons in frost. “Perhaps her kidnapper was.”

“Or we could have just interrupted a completely unrelated demon convention,” Varric said, hitting one of the creatures with a solid bolt between its black eyes. Velanna slid past it as it collapsed and set the frozen shades alight with flame. She then whirled on the last of them, readying another blast, but before she could move, Isabela leapt from her perch on one of the massive foundry cauldrons behind her. She sailed over Velanna’s head and landed in front of her, thrusting her daggers firmly into the demon’s gut. Velanna staggered back in surprise, then glared, and Varric smothered a laugh behind his fist.

As the creature disappeared, the silence that fell around them seemed almost surreal. They glanced around the massive room, the air around them now stale with the smell of ichor and burnt coal. Demon remains stained the old wood floor, but there seemed to be no other sign of life. They’d spent the better part of the day chasing down leads for some crotchety Orlesian complaining about his missing wife, running from Hightown to Darktown and back again, until they finally followed the trail to this foundry.

Varric plucked a rag from his belt and began to clean Bianca’s handle. “Well, what do you think, Hawke?”

“I suppose we search. There has to be some sort of clue laying around,” Hawke said.

“Search this underground tunnel, search that whorehouse, search this foundry,” Velanna grumbled, wrinkling her nose as she tried to scrape away a bit of blood from her coat. “If you ask me, this is a waste of time. She left long ago.”

Isabela climbed the stairs above them and leaned over the railing, smirking at the blonde mage. “You all certainly have some interesting jobs, I’ll give you that. _I_ think we ought to go search that brothel again. I’m not certain we were entirely thorough.”

“Please,” Velanna groaned.

“Well, it would certainly smell a damn sight better,” Hawke chimed in, following Isabela up the stairs.

Varric chuckled, turning back to the stack of crates in front of him. Isabela had joined them a little over a week ago, and her company was already proving to be as much a whirlwind as her arrival. A bar fight, a Hightown ambush, a knife fight in the Chantry, a clandestine search for the most deadly poison in Thedas, and that was only the first two days. Since then the pirate had taken to hanging around the tavern and tagging along on a few of the jobs Hawke managed to stumble across. Velanna made no secret of her dislike of the pirate, something Isabela seemed completely aware of. Varric, Hawke, and Carver had a running bet as to how long it would take the Warden to set Isabela’s hair on fire. Of course, she’d have to catch her, first.

“Over here!” Hawke called from above Varric’s head. He was leaning over a small pile of what looked like ash with a few bones sticking out. In his gloves he held what looked like a cleanly severed hand with a ring glittering on one of its limp fingers.

“I guess it was kidnapping after all,” Isabela said.

“That looks Orlesian,” Varric said, peering over Hawke’s shoulder.

“The ring or the hand?” Hawke glanced back at him.

“The ash pile, obviously,” Varric grinned.

“Oh, that’s horrid,” Velanna gasped, coming up behind them.

“At least the ring might still be worth something,” said Isabela, leaning her arm against the wall.

Hawke shook his head. “I ought to take it back to Ghyslain.”

“That pig?” Isabela scoffed, “He deserves to think she ran out on him.”

“I agree, but I don’t really feel right selling a dead woman’s wedding ring,” said Hawke.

“Take comfort in the fact that it didn’t mean anything to her,” Isabela said.

Hawke sighed and pushed himself to his feet, tucking the ring into his pocket. “Let’s get out of here.”

The evening breeze was far cooler than the heavy air in the foundry, and Varric took a deep breath of it as they piled outside and made their way out of the industrial quarter. He wondered idly as they walked if the Deep Roads would be anything like that -- hot, stagnant air trapped underneath an entire mountain of rock, rancid with age and taint and Andraste knew what else. And more likely than not, far more piles of ash and bone and limbs, rotting in the forgotten silence of dead cities. Just the thought made his nose curl. The dwarves usually had long shafts to the surface to force fresh air into the thaigs, but he doubted they could reach every corner of the far-sprawling Deep Roads, assuming they weren’t long ago clogged by dirt or cave-ins.

Varric found himself thinking of the Deep Roads often, now. They were still far from the money they needed, but the approach felt imminent nonetheless, bearing down on him faster than he would really like. Bartrand could hardly contain his excitement, or as near as the crabby bastard got to it, but for Varric, the only lure was profit. Not even a storyteller’s curiosity could have dragged him into those old ruins. Were the promise of gold not so infuriatingly enticing, he would be content to leave those musty caves to the bones of his ancestors and the horrors that crawled over them.

“You haven’t said a word in ten minutes, Varric, I’m beginning to worry,” Hawke said over his shoulder, glancing back at the dwarf.

Varric grinned. “Just plotting my next chapter, Hawke. You have to admit, that foundry adventure was gold. ‘ _And then, standing in a pile of dead demons stacked ten high, the hero plucked the severed arm from the floor and --_ ’ ”

“Oh, that’s absolutely grotesque,” Velanna protested as they reached the warm torches flickering outside the Hanged Man. “You wouldn’t actually publish that, would you? That is hardly a story fitting to honor the dead.”

“I never pegged you for a literary critic, Blondie,” said Varric, leaning his shoulder casually against the tavern wall and watching her with some amusement.

Velanna crossed her arms. “I could certainly write a better story than that.”

“Dry historical prose and a distinct lack of heaving bosoms, no doubt,” Isabela remarked. Velanna gave her a tight frown, and the pirate rolled her eyes, turning instead to Hawke. “Drinks on you? For a job well done?”

Hawke smiled and shook his head. “I should get home. There’s a job poster in Hightown I wanted a good look at tomorrow--”

“Really? Don’t you ever take a break, Hawke?” Isabela said. “All work and no play...”

“Makes Hawke’s family meals, I’m afraid,” the mage shrugged.

“What about you, sweet thing? Surely you do let your hair down once in a while,” Isabela turn to Velanna, whose frowned deepened as she glared at her. Isabela sighed. “Right, forget I asked. Well, I know Varric won’t let me down.”

“I have a few things to take care of yet, Rivaini. Sorry.”

Isabela raised a finger at him. “A pint and Diamondback when you get in, and I won’t take no for an answer. I need to win those silvers back. And I know where you live.”

Varric put a hand to his chest. “The Stone take me before I cross a beautiful woman.”

“Ooh, and he’s smart, too,” Isabela grinned. “A rare and precious quality in a man.”

“The first thing we can agree on,” Velanna mumbled, which got a surprised laugh out of Isabela.

“I’ll crack that ice yet, Warden,” the pirate smiled, winking at her. Velanna’s frown returned immediately, but Isabela was already dancing toward the tavern door. A wave of laughter and drunken singing spilled into the street before the door shut behind her. Hawke shook his head, starting down the street with the others.

“How is Merrill settling in to her new house?” Hawke asked after a moment, and Velanna looked up in surprise.

“I... she seems fine, under the circumstances.” She glanced at Varric. “I... ought to thank you for finding that.”

Varric smiled but waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. What good are connections if you don’t use them?”

“There are not many who feel that way,” Velanna said. “Anyway, I think she plans to move the rest of her things from Sundermount tomorrow.”

“Think she’d like help?” Hawke paused as they reached the dirty stone staircase leading up to his uncle’s hovel.

“I... what?” she blinked at him.

“Help? Moving? Carver and I make decent pack mules in a pinch, and he seems ever so fond of pointing out that I could use the exercise,” Hawke said, patting his stomach.

“Don’t want to lose that girlish figure,” said Varric, nudging him.

Hawke frowned. “Just for that, you’re helping too.”

“Yes,” Velanna said abruptly, looking away toward the alley. “Yes, fine. Come in the morning. Good night.”

Varric exchanged a look with Hawke before shrugging. Hawke watched her march down the street. “We ought to walk her home. That street at night--”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to go suggest she can’t handle herself, or should I?”

“...Right you are,” Hawke said.

 

* * *

 

A few hours after sunrise, Varric discovered, was entirely too early to be bowled over by a mabari in the street. He blinked up at the great oaf of a dog, who was stretching to lick at Varric’s chin. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Bailey, get off of him,” Hawke chided, tugging the mabari away as a bed-headed and bleary-eyed Carver stumbled out the door behind him.

“I usually expect dinner before that kind of greeting,” Varric chuckled, checking Bianca for scuff marks. “Trust you to keep a bear for a pet.”

“He’s an old softie,” Hawke smiled, rubbing the dog behind the ears. “who desperately needs some fresh air. And more importantly, he can carry a fair bit.”

The dog whuffed happily, nudging Hawke’s hand and wagging his little stub of a tail. Behind them, Carver yawned loudly, stretching his arms over his head.

“This really couldn’t have waited until a decent hour?” he whined, smothering another yawn with his fist as they started down the stairs.

“A decent hour indeed, you’d sleep well past mid-day if we let you,” Hawke said. “And you call _me_ lazy.”

“I, for one, think he has the right idea,” said Varric. “You weren’t being plied with drinks by a crazy pirate all night.”

“How much did you lose this time, Varric?” Hawke smirked.

“One does not lose spectacularly at Diamondback and tell, Hawke,” Varric groused. Hawke just laughed.

“Anyway, you’re the one that insisted I take you,” Hawke raised his eyebrows at Carver. “Someone’s been daydreaming about big green doe eyes--”

“Shut up!” Carver snapped, and Hawke laughed again. Carver glared. “As if you haven’t been doing the same.”

“I don’t know what you--”

As they turned the corner toward the alienage, Hawke nearly collided with a man in full templar regalia. The mage stepped back quickly, stuttering an apology as the templar reached out to steady him. Hawke stiffened at the sight of the armor, and Varric eyed the staff strapped to Hawke’s back, but if the templar noticed, he gave no sign.

“Pardon me, serah,” he said with a nod before continuing up the steps. The three men watched him stroll further down the street before dashing down the rest of the stairs. The dog scampered down behind them, nearly knocking Varric to the ground again as he pushed past to reach Hawke’s side. Hawke’s shoulders dropped in relief when they found Merrill and Velanna both standing in the corner near the stairs with another elven woman. When he spotted them, Carver quickly smoothed down his hair, and Varric smirked at him.

“I just don’t want him to get into trouble,” the woman was saying, wringing her hands as she spoke. Merrill wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed as the woman wept, “My poor boy!”

“We’ll find him, Arianni,” Velanna vowed. “He can’t have gone too far.” She glanced up as Hawke and the others walked over, pursing her lips.

Hawke gestured toward the steps. “We ran into a templar, I thought he might have --”

“Arianni summoned him,” Velanna said, shaking her head and gesturing to the woman beside her. “Her son, Feynriel, seems to have run away.”

“I... could call Aveline, if you like. Notify the guard?” Hawke said.

“It’s not a simple matter,” sighed Velanna. “Her son, Feynriel... she was preparing to send him to the Circle.”

“I couldn’t bear the thought at first,” Arianni spoke up, peering up at Hawke, “He’s all I have, all my family. But his connection to the Fade, it gives him nightmares, dreams of demons speaking in his mind. I would rather him sent to the Circle than left to himself.”

“But he ran away?” Hawke said.

“He learned I had contacted Ser Thrask, the templar you saw. He felt I... betrayed his trust. He thinks he can live free of the Circle, but I am afraid without proper training, he’ll kill himself.”

“What kind of dreams is he having?” Hawke furrowed his brow.

Arianni bit her lip. “Demons calling to him, pulling him into their world. Every day it grows harder to wake him. That is why I turned to the Circle. They’re the only ones that can protect a mage from his own powers.”

Hawke looked down, shifting a little, and gave a small nod. “So are you... Dalish as well? Just, with the tattoos...”

“I was born to the Dalish,” she said, “but came to Kirkwall for a time and... dallied with a human merchant, Vincento. When I found I was with child, neither Vincento nor my clan wanted the burden of an elf-blooded human. I raised Feynriel myself, here in the alienage.”

Hawke nodded again. “I would not have you fearful a moment longer than necessary. We’ll help you search, Velanna.”

Velanna looked up, giving him a look that seemed particularly scrutinizing to Varric. Merrill just smiled.

“Oh, thank you,” Arianni said, closing her eyes. “It has been a lonely time, hiding. It’s almost a relief to finally confront this openly. I don’t know where Feynriel has gone, but there are two places you might start your search. Ser Thrask has been looking for him, he could tell you what ground he’s already covered. And Vincento recently returned from Antiva. He’s a merchant in the Lowtown Bazaar, and Feynriel might have sought him out.”

“I should stay here,” Merrill said softly, giving Arianni one more reassuring squeeze. “My clan expects me.”

“Do you, um... That is... I mean, I could give you a hand, if... if you’d like,” Carver stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. Varric elbowed Hawke, who nudged him back, his face reddening as he struggled to contain his laughter.

“Oh! That’s so kind of you, but I’ll be fine, really. This is much more important,” Merrill said.

Varric counted himself impressed that Hawke managed to hold back his laughter until Merrill disappeared behind her door. Carver whirled angrily around when Hawke’s guffaws rang across the square, and Varric ducked behind the mabari, who was barking excitedly, as the boy advanced on his brother.

“That was real smooth, Junior!” he called as Carver launched a mean swing that Hawke just barely managed to jump away from. He then shot a glare at Varric.

“If you’re _quite_ finished?” Velanna growled behind them. A few elves passing through the square were staring at them, and Velanna folded her arms as the three men straightened. They followed her up the stairs, and Varric caught an exasperated grumble of “ _humans_ ” under her breath.

As Hawke caught up to her on the stairs, Varric heard her say a little louder, "You know she doesn't have any money to give you for this."

Hawke looked at her, though Varric couldn't make out his expression. "I'm not doing this because I think she has coin."

"You had a price the first time we met," Velanna said.

"That was... if I had heard about it separately... and I didn't ask for... look, I watched my mother torn apart in grief when my sister died. You think I can't sympathize with her fear of losing a child?" Hawke said, a flash of annoyance in his tone now.

Velanna fell quiet. "I... did not realize. I apologize."

Hawke sighed, but did not speak again. Varric watched his shoulders slump, just a little.

 

* * *

 

The search proved more exhausting than Varric anticipated. By the time evening fell, he felt certain they’d covered every inch of the city, and even the mabari seemed anxious to stop. It took several tries, one angry threat from Velanna, and one discrete burst of magic from Hawke to convince the Antivan merchant to talk. The man was all syrupy smiles and lies as thick and obvious as his accent, but Velanna’s sharp glares seemed to cut through them. He directed them to an ex-templar, Samson, they could meet only by night. Hiding their staffs in Hawke’s house (much to Velanna’s vocal chagrin), they trekked to the Gallows in the meantime, but learned little more from Ser Thrask, and marched back to Lowtown empty-handed. As the sun set, they met Samson crawling out from a Darktown side entrance like a sewer rat, smelling heavily of filth and smoke. He greeted them with a yellow-toothed smile, and directed them to a warehouse on the Docks that the reached well after dark.

“This blasted city is too big,” Carver grumbled as Varric pulled out his lockpicks. “My feet are killing me.”

Bailey whined softly next to him and yawned. Varric managed to pop the lock free quickly, and he pushed the door in. The wood creaked loudly, whining as it swung inward, and all four of them winced.

“Do any of you have _any_ talent for subtlety?” Velanna hissed, pushing in ahead of them.

“Oh, excuse us, Miss Shout-First-Ask-Later, Glow-in-the-Dark Elf Mage,” Carvered mumbled back.

Velanna had no time to reply. Several men burst from behind a high stack of crates, lunging at them with blades drawn. Startled, the elf jerked her staff in a quick circle before her, unleashing a powerful wave of force magic that knocked several of them back into the crates and against the wall. Varric quickly pinned a few in place Bianca’s bolts while Carver ran after a few others, his sword cutting down through the air. Bailey leapt at the stragglers, growling fiercely and baring his powerful teeth.

Velanna raised her staff and her free hand together, calling down another blast of force magic to slam down hard, knocking a few more off of their feet. Hawke stepped up behind her and sent a barrage of fire to follow, and the men howled in pain. Carver dodged through a rain of bolts from Varric to bury his sword in one rogue’s belly, pulling it out quickly and leaving the man to slump. Before he could leap to the next, however, he let out a terrible yell, and Varric’s head shot up to find one of the raiders that had been thrown to the ground with this dagger buried in Carver’s thigh. Carver snarled and brought his sword crashing down through the man’s chest before he stumbled weakly to the ground.

“Carver!” Hawke called, setting one more man aflame before rushing to his brother’s side. Varric, Velanna, and the dog worked through the rest of their attackers as fast as they could, leaving them to collapse on the floor while they rushed to where Carver lay. Hawke looked stricken, staring down at his brother in alarm and clutching his shoulder. Bailey whined, nudging Hawke’s shoulder.

“Shit, Junior, that’s in deep,” Varric said, wincing.

“Pull it out,” Velanna said, kneeling across from Hawke.

“Pulling it out might make the damage worse,” Hawke said, looking at her with wide eyes.

“I can heal him,” Velanna insisted. “Trust me.”

Carver writhed, groaning again. Hawke stared at her for a moment, hesitating. Velanna returned his gaze evenly, nodding once, and Hawke slowly nodded in return. He reached out and grasped the dagger’s hilt.

“This is going to hurt, brother, just take a deep breath,” Hawke said. Carver squeezed his eyes shut and balled one fist around the bottom of Hawke’s shirt, and the other around the hilt of his sword. Hawke counted to three and then jerked the dagger free. Carver screamed in pain, and blood surged down his thigh, soaking his ripped leggings. Velanna closed her eyes and quickly lifted her hands to hover over his leg, a soft blue glow illuminating her fingers. Carver whimpered as the magic moved through his muscles, knitting the flesh whole and soothing away the pain.

After only a minute or so, Velanna sat back. Where the wound had been, there was now only a long, thin scar. Breathless, Carver slowly relaxed his grip on Hawke’s armor. Hawke threw the dagger aside and gripped Carver’s shoulder again, looking carefully over his face.

“How does it feel?” he asked anxiously.

Carver opened his eyes. “It feels... it feels sore, but... okay.” He slowly sat up and began to try to stand, but Velanna’s hand shot out to push him back down again.

“Take it slow. It is healed, but it will still be weak. Your body will need time to mend fully.”

Carver slumped back, nodding slowly. “I can’t... believe I let my guard down like that.”

“The point is you’re all right. I’ll give you plenty of shit about this later,” Hawke said. “Once Mother’s done with you.”

Carver groaned, but managed to give Hawke a small smile. He glanced at Velanna. “Thanks.”

Hawke, too, gave her a nod. “Yes, thank you.”

“I am glad to help," she said, holding his gaze only a moment before she looked away.

Varric cleared his throat. “We still need to search.”

“Right,” Hawke said. “But Carver--”

“I’m fine! Go.”

Hawke sighed, but finally stood. Bailey sat down next to Carver, whining again, and Carver reached up to tiredly rub the mabari’s head. Hawke joined Velanna and Varric and began searching the warehouse’s musty rooms, pulling open barrels and crates and rifling through papers strewn over the ground.

“Here Hawke!” Varric called from where he crouched over an old crate. He held up a shipping manifest. Hawke rushed into the room and took it, scanning it quickly.

“One male human mage, to Danzig in Darktown,” he read aloud, frowning.

“Oh, no,” Velanna said. “We have to get to Darktown before they leave.”

“Wait,” Hawke held up a hand. “Darktown is a viper’s nest by night, and I need to get Carver home. We can get to them first thing in the morning.”

Velanna looked ready to march off herself, but she glanced at the door and then sighed. “Perhaps. But we must go as soon as possible.”

“Sunrise,” Hawke agreed. Varric held in a groan.


	8. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leandra gives a little celebration breakfast in honor of Aveline becoming Guard-Captain. Meanwhile Hawke has found a new job posted by the Prince of Starkhaven himself, a job that leads them into all sorts of extra trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone gets bent out of shape about me using "Qunari" instead of "kossith," I want to say that I'm deferring to David Gaider himself, who posted about the whole thing on his blog, and said that "Qunari" would be the term generally used by everyday people. Even if it's not completely accurate. I think it's fair to say that Hawke and his friends would not know whether it's accurate or really, at least this early on, care about it. So that's my PSA. I'm trying to stick with how the characters themselves would reference them. For example, had Fenris been the "narrator" for the chapter, he would like have used "Tal-Vashoth" rather than "Qunari," being more knowledgeable about such things. Fair? Fair.

"I'm telling you, Aveline, you should've been there," Varric said between mouthfuls of scone.

"Yes," she said, laying her fork down and looking at Hawke with a frown. "I _should_ have."

"Need a hand, mother?" Hawke called toward the kitchen. He leapt from his chair, making Carver snicker and Aveline fold her arms. She shook her head as he stumbled through the kitchen door, a fresh smell of bacon floating out behind him. With a busy kitchen and a relatively clean table, Gamlen's hovel could almost be mistaken for homey. As long as you didn't look too close at the scratched walls and dusty floors, or at a few of the more suspicious stains in the corners.

Aveline turned back to Varric, who was now _very_ interested in the rest of his scone. "This should have brought to the attention of the Guard," she said.

"Aveline, I offer my sincerest congratulations, and my sincerest _you're welcome_ , on becoming captain," Varric said, ignoring Aveline's scoff, "but trust me when I tell you that you never would have found that boy. We could barely squeeze a hint out of his father, and that was only after he found out Hawke and Blondie were apostates. And forget the ex-templar. He would've run the moment he heard armor clinking."

"But--"

"So _anyway_ ," Varric continued, and Aveline murmured to herself as she picked up her fork again, "after we picked up Fenris in Junior's stead, we crawled through Darktown and find this mage with an army of slavers--"

"An army," Aveline raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, just let him finish," Carver said around a forkful of eggs.

"Thank you. So the mage immediately decides he's going to throw us in with the rest of his slaves, and Hawke, like the grand stoic hero that he is--"

Carver snorted loudly.

"--just turns to Fenris and says, 'Make him talk.' And Fenris just shrugs and says, 'I can do that,'" Varric tilted his chin down, deepening his voice in his best impression of each of them. "So the Elf lights up those tattoos of his, steps forward, and shoves his hand straight through this guy's chest to grip his heart."

Varric pounded his fist down as he spoke, rattling the plates as he spoke. "Bastard sung like a bird after that. Of course he still put up a fight, but we can't really be held responsible for what happens when we're just trying to defend ourselves from attack."

Aveline couldn't help a small smirk. Carver swallowed another bite of eggs and sighed. "I wish I could've come."

"Sorry, Junior," Varric said. "How's the leg?"

"A little stiff, but I'll be fine," said Carver, patting his thigh.

"So what about the boy?" Aveline leaned over to pluck a scone from the basket at the table's center. "Feynriel?"

"Right, well, the mage said they were keeping him on the Coast, so we hike all the way out there--"

"The short version, Varric," Aveline interrupted with a stern look.

"We found him, he's fine, and only bad people got killed. The end," Hawke walked back to the table with a plate piled high with crisp bacon. Bailey trotted out behind him, sniffing the air eyeing the platter hungrily.

"This is why I do the storytelling," Varric said, snatching the nearest piece of bacon.

Hawke chuckled, settling back into his chair as Carver waved the mabari sniffing at the table’s edge away and pounced on the platter. "Varric managed to convince the slavers that Feynriel was the Viscount's bastard and they'd be risking war with the Free Marches."

"A resolution Hawke immediately ruined by refusing to let them leave alive," Varric added.

"Right, I'm certain they saw the error of their child-enslaving ways and were ready to weep into the Maker's skirts and never, ever do it again," Hawke said, rolling his eyes. "I used the momentary distraction."

"You'd just better be glad you're fast," said Varric, waving the half-eaten piece of bacon.

Carver poked his brother's arm. "Tactics and subtlety aren't really Garrett's strong point. Great at blasting something to bloody bits, though."

"Because that giant sword of yours is the epitome of subtle," Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"So he's home now?" Aveline scraped the last bit of eggs from her plate.

Hawke shook his head. "He wanted to go to the Dalish, seek help with his magic, but Velanna pointed out that he’d still be a pariah to them, just for his humanity rather than his magic. He didn’t care, but... we insisted on the Circle.”

He sighed, glancing at Aveline, who looked surprised. “I know... you know my feelings about the Circle, but... it’s clear he needs help, and he can’t get it as he is now, and I felt... in good conscience, I couldn’t send him into the wilderness knowing he’d likely be turned away again and might just run off on his own. This just seemed... safer.”

He looked down at his plate, looking a little torn, and Aveline pursed her lips, simply nodding. Leandra finally emerged from the kitchen then, carrying another plate full of scones. “All right, enough of all that, it’s hardly appropriate talk for the breakfast table. We’re supposed to be celebrating Aveline’s promotion!”

She squeezed Aveline’s shoulder, then leaned down and kissed Carver’s cheek, ruffling his hair. The boy squirmed, but he gave her a lopsided grin at she sat down at the table’s head.

“Thank you for this, Leandra,” Aveline said. She could felt her cheeks heating a little. “It’s so kind of you.”

“Oh, please, dear, it’s my pleasure,” said Leandra with a wave of her hand, “You’re practically family after this year.”

Aveline smiled, genuinely touched. She thought often of the long, broken road from Lothering they travelled together, especially in these last few weeks. At the ceremony christening her Guard-Captain, it was so easy to imagine Wesley among the small crowd, standing next to the Hawkes and beaming up at her. She could picture his proud smile, and his templar armor polished and glinting and his stubborn hair smoothed back, one determined strand askew. She wanted both to laugh aloud and to weep at the image, which was so strong she almost ran to him when the ceremony ended. Instead, it was Leandra who came to her, clasping her gloved hands and gently smoothing her hair, the same loss in those eyes that Aveline was certain Leandra saw in her own.

“He would be so proud of you, my girl,” she said softly, her hand warm on Aveline’s cheek. “Just as we are.”

Despite every ounce of willpower in her body, Aveline’s eyes shone with tears. “Thank you, Leandra.”

Leandra squeezed her hand, then pulled her into a hug. Though Aveline lost what was left of her family on that dirt road in Ferelden, she felt at least that she found the next best thing in the surprisingly open arms of the Hawkes. Of course, they had their own dear loss in the flight from Ferelden, and Aveline wondered sometimes when Leandra looked at her if she didn’t expect to see dark brown curls and darker eyes. Still, she suspected Leandra loved having another girl to mother. She smiled to herself as she watched the woman now, laughing with her children. Were they like this back in Lothering, on some small far on the outskirts of town, with Malcolm and Bethany still sharing the table? It seemed difficult to imagine the Hawke house any other way.

Hawke pushed his chair back and rose, beginning to dig in his belt pouch. “Well, with respect to Mother, I did have a bit more business to discuss.”

He finally pulled a wrinkled piece of paper free. Carefully pushing his plate to the side, he smoothed out the paper in front of him. Aveline moved her plate and leaned across, and Varric quickly rose and moved to stand next to Hawke.

“That seal looks important,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Hawke grinned. “Starkhaven. Put there by the prince himself.”

“Wasn’t there some sort of upset there recently?” Aveline said, glancing up.

“Word is the entire royal family was murdered. Except one, apparently. The whole place has been up in arms for weeks,” Varric said, lifting up the paper to get a better look. “You sure this is genuine?”

Hawke’s grin widened. “I watched him shoot it into the board himself.”

“...Shoot it?” Varric said, lowering the paper and glancing back at the mage.

“I was heading to the Chanter’s board anyway, and he and the Grand Cleric were arguing. And if he wasn’t the prince, he’s certainly sunk his entire fortune into his armor. Anyway, the Grand Cleric tore that paper down and he just turned around, said something about his family deserving vengeance, notched an arrow, and pinned it there. There’s a map on the back of where they’re holed up, too, so he’s done some work on this,” Hawke said.

“Sounds like I’ve been following the wrong hero around,” Varric snorted.

Hawke snorted. “Have fun at the Chantry services. He’s a brother there, or at least he was.”

Varric wrinkled his nose. “Maybe I’ll stick to the Lowtown underdog.”

“I feel so honored,” Hawke rolled his eyes.

Varric looked over the paper again, then handed it to Aveline. “Avenging a royal murder. There’s good money in that. _Really_ good.”

“I knew you’d approve,” said Hawke.

Leandra sighed loudly, shifting and frowning at the floor. Carver shot a look at Hawke, and the older son quickly circled the table, wrapping his arms around his mother’s shoulders. Leandra squeezed his hands as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. Varric moved to look over Aveline’s shoulder at the paper again.

“All right, all right, we’ll talk about the rest after we leave,” Hawke said.

Leandra pursed her lips, looking at Carver and freeing a hand to reach for him. “I’m sorry, it’s just… this is not the life I meant for you.”

“Mother,” Hawke sighed. “We’ve already had this talk.”

“I know,” Leandra said, patting Hawke’s hand as Carver tried, awkwardly, to look sympathetic. She shook her head, trying to compose herself as Hawke released her with one more kiss to the top of her head. Bailey, who had been laying near the table, lifted his head and whined softly toward her.

“I just do so wish you boys could find... a better means of earning money,” she said as she straightened.

“I suppose I could always become a tailor,” Hawke gave her a wry smile.

Leandra chuckled and shook her head. “Oh darling, your sewing is dreadful.”

“Oh! Perhaps a baker, then,” Hawke said. He caught Aveline’s eye and winked, and Aveline understood. She wondered how often he found himself trying to make his mother smile, these days.

“I’m not certain I would trust you to boil water, dear,” Leandra said, grinning now.

“Mother, you wound me!” Hawke exclaimed, pressing his hands to his chest. “What exactly did you have in mind, then?”

“Well, perhaps you could work with Gamlen at the docks.”

Everyone looked up at her. Leandra sighed. “You’re right, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Laughter bubbled around the table. Hawke moved to take the Chanter’s Board notice from Aveline, folding it up. “I’m afraid this will have to do for now. Soon you’ll be Empress of Hightown and we’ll only have to worry about what pattern you want on the curtains.”

Leandra gave him a small smile. “Do be careful.”

“I always am,” Hawke said, then glanced at Carver and winced. “Well, most of the time.” He looked from Varric to Aveline. “So, what do you say, up for a bit of princely vengeance? And since Aveline felt so left out last time, I just know she’s anxious to help.”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “If only to keep you out of trouble.”

“Sadly, I have an absolutely riveting meeting with my brother to attend,” Varric said. “But Isabela’s usually looking for trouble at the tavern. And I bet Daisy could use some fresh air, too, if Blondie isn’t putting her to work.”

“Daisy, huh?” Hawke chuckled. “Cute.”

“Right, let’s get going,” Carver rose stiffly from his chair.

“You’re not going anywhere until you can run to the Coast and back on that leg,” Leandra said firmly.

Carver’s shoulders slumped. “Mother...”

Hawke nudged his shoulder. “I’ll tell Merrill you said hello.”

Carver glared at him.

 

* * *

 

“This city is amazing!” Merrill said as they passed through the main gates. She turned to stare back at them as the others walked ahead. “Did you know I saw someone get mugged? Right outside my house! It was fascinating.”

“Careful there, kitten,” Isabela said. Her arm shot out as Merrill nearly stumbled backwards over a stone.

“Someone is jumped outside your house and that’s… exciting?” Aveline said, raising an eyebrow as Merrill regained her footing.

“It must be the alienage greeting!” Merrill said, looking up at her with a grin. “Hasn’t happened to me yet though. They must not like me.”

Isabela laughed. “You’re already doing better than you think with an attitude like that. Just don’t keep anything valuable in your back pocket and you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t even have back pockets,” Merrill said, tugging at the back of her tunic. Isabela laughed again.

“Perfect!” Isabela said. “See? Neither do I.”

“And yet they still have easy access to your goods,” Aveline mumbled. She kept her eyes on the sandy path ahead, but she swore she could feel the smirk Isabela leveled at her, and she gritted her teeth.

“That sounded a bit possessive, Captain.”

Aveline barely restrained her fist when the pirate appeared at her side, swaying close. She draped an arm across Aveline’s pauldrons and said, “You’re in luck. I quite fancy a good uniform.”

“Then you’ll love a night behind bars,” Aveline grumbled, wrenching her shoulders free.

“Mmm, on what charge?” said Isabela. Did she ever lose that infernal smirk?

“Public indecency, disturbing the peace--”

“And it all ends with you punishing me behind bars? Sounds like a good night out to me, big girl,” Isabela chuckled, and Aveline turned her head in time to see her give a completely confused-looking Merrill a wink. The Guard-Captain felt her cheeks burning.

“So,” Hawke said loudly, “About these mercenaries we’re off to kill.”

Isabela giggled and, mercifully, drifted back behind Aveline to walk with Merrill. The elf’s eyes looked even larger than usual as she blinked up at Hawke’s back. “Oh goodness, I’ve never done anything like this before. Do you work for the Guard, Hawke? Is that why you’re always catching bad men with Aveline?”

Aveline snorted, and Hawke smirked at her before looking back over his shoulder as Merrill. “Not quite. It’s more like… I take on jobs the Guard can’t or doesn’t have time to.”

“Or are not strictly _legal_ ,” Aveline added tightly.

Hawke just shrugged. “They’re _mostly_ legal… and it’s a few less headaches for you most of the time. Anyway, these guys slaughtered a man’s whole family.”

“It’s just desserts,” Isabela said, and Hawke looked back at her.

“I hadn’t pegged you for altruistic, Isabela,” he said.

“I didn’t say that’s why _I_ was here,” the pirate grinned. “Oh, would you smell that air!” She ran a little ahead of them, spreading her arms out as a broader part of the sea came into view ahead of them.

After a few minutes of Isabela standing on the edge of the coast, the group climbed up toward the first mark on the map.

 

* * *

 

 

If being a founding member of Hawke’s merry band of misfits had taught Aveline anything, it was to expect at least eight different kinds of trouble for every one simple job. Hawke really should stop using the word “simple” altogether for these things. One “simple” job Aveline’s freckled arse.

They disbanded the first group of mercenaries easily enough, surprising them in a secluded corner behind several boulders. But scaling the mountain toward the second sent them straight into the midst of several angry, hissing spiders, and then, even worse -- the particularly shrewd and smooth-talking dwarf that should have been their supper.

Aveline suspected Hawke might be physically unable to ignore a request for help, even if the source was highly questionable and likely criminal. Hawke had a good heart, but he also needed gold, badly. She sympathized, and despite her jabs, she did often look the other way when his adventures tugged him in a less than law-abiding direction. But now that she was Guard-Captain, that seemed less and less like an option. The moment it began to seem to others as if she was actively allowing her friends to engage in crime was the moment she became no better than Captain Jeven in their eyes. At least, she feared it would be so. More than that, she felt the responsibility of keeping the city in balance and at peace settling far heavier on her shoulders now.

She managed to keep her thoughts to herself as they cut through the next band of mercenaries, hiding amongst the ruins on one of Sundermount’s high ledges. But as they marched back down along the rocky path, Aveline still picking wet pieces of spider from her chest plate, Hawke finally glanced back at her.

“I know that look, Aveline,” he said. “Out with it.”

Aveline frowned. It was well past midday now, and she had to shield her eyes from the sun to look at him. “Fine. I think you’re being completely foolhardy and this is wrong.”

“Is this about Javaris?” Hawke sighed.

“Of course it is!” Aveline said, glaring, and Hawke winced. “That dwarf is asking us to track down a dangerous explosive powder simply because he sees a business opportunity? Think about it, Hawke. What if that ends up in the wrong hands? The results could be absolutely catastrophic. Not to mention the impact this would have on things with the Qunari.”

“Or maybe he genuinely would use it for construction. Or maybe it doesn’t matter if the coin is good and that’s what we’re after. The rest isn’t our problem,” Isabela spoke up, still trying to comb bits of gore from her hair.

“It is if it causes some kind of disaster! What if innocent lives are lost? What if part of the city ends up destroyed?” Aveline snapped as they reached the level sand on the Wounded Coast once more.

“Don’t be so dramatic. He’s not going to blow up the city with it,” said Isabela, rolling her eyes, “Then who would he have to do business with?”

“Dramatic?” the guard whirled around, stopping right in front of Isabela. Merrill hopped down the path around them, then edged behind Hawke with wide eyes. Aveline growled, “He wants a potentially dangerous weapon to do Maker-knows-what with, and I’m being _dramatic_? And what if the Qunari retaliate and people end up in the crossfire? How do we even know what the dwarf says is true? That killing these Qunari is something the Arishok wants?”

Isabela raised her chin, but Aveline shook her head before the pirate could reply. “Why am I even bothering to argue with you? You’re the one who thought it would be a good idea to hand over a remarkably strong poison to a shady merchant in the back of a shady tavern. Clearly, you have the right idea here.”

“I told you bringing a guard on that job was a bad idea,” Isabela glanced at Hawke, who was watching the two of them warily. “They have no idea how to recognize the reality that that sort of business will go on one way or another, so you might as well get a piece of it.”

“So you think just allowing people to get killed or hurt or robbed in the name of a few pieces of gold is fine. You have no interest in, I don’t know, doing something to prevent that from having to happen in the first place?” Aveline said, throwing up her hands and turning to head down the path.

“You act as if it’s so simple when it’s not and never can be,” Isabela said, following. “We’re not living in the Golden City the Chantry is so fond of singing of. This city, this whole country, is not as black and white as people like you want to make it.”

“I never said--”

“Enough,” Hawke finally said, rubbing his forehead. “Look, Aveline has a point. On the explosive powder, at least.”

Isabela folded her arms, and Aveline looked back at Hawke with a triumphant smile. Merrill just looked utterly relieved that the argument was over. Hawke continued, “We can debate the rest later when we’re not baking alive in this sun and covered in spider bits.”

“Fair enough,” Aveline said, curling her nose as she examined her armor. They walked on a little further before she said, “We ought to tell the Arishok.”

Isabela looked up. “Is that really necessary--”

Aveline paused but refused to look back. “So help me, whore--”

“You endanger yourself, human! Do not say you are unwarned!”

The group all turned quickly. The voice was distant, coming from somewhere further along the path. Aveline drew her sword. “On your guard.”

“Here we go again,” Isabela sighed. They moved down the path carefully, eyeing the scrubbing pushes and boulders along the edge. A smaller path split off from the main one, curling away from the sand and up a higher, rocky hill. Hawke jerked his head and led them up it, moving cautiously. They did not have to wait long. A Qunari emerged from around the side of one of the boulders.

“No further, human. Tal-Vashtoh control these passages.”

Hawke straightened slightly, his hand hovering near his staff. “Ambushes are usually quieter, Qunari.”

“I did not intend to ambush. I expected to warn a caravan, but you are not helpless. The path ahead is littered with my kind. If you are as skilled as you look, it would please me if you killed them.”

Hawke glanced at Aveline, raising an eyebrow. “It seems everyone wants these guys dead.” Aveline just frowned. Hawke turned back the Qunari. “And I should trust you?” He glanced at Aveline again, who nodded once.

“I have no history of betraying your people, only my own,” the Qunari replied. “I did not like my… role. So I left the Qun. I do not wish to be a murdering thief, so I left these Tal-Vashoth to warn their victims. You are no victim, so now, I will leave.”

Hawke eyed him suspiciously. “What’s the trick, Tal-Vashoth?”

“As I said, the path ahead is thick with my kind. They revel in chaos and will give you the battle you appear to want. If telling you that is a trick, it is a poor one. I am new to decisions outside my role, human. I have decided to warn you. Do what you will.”

With that, the Qunari turned and moved past them along the path. Aveline lifted her sword to rest on her shoulder, standing near Hawke and watching the Qunari as he went. Isabela stood at his other side. She shook her head and murmured, “Sometimes I think their brains are twisted up in those horns of theirs.”

Hawke looked back up the path. “Well, as long as we’re on a mercenary-killing role… I think it would be best not to leave the path to these guys.”

The Qunari did not lie. His former comrades were only a short distance further up the path, and attacked almost before the group could see them.

Aveline had often heard the Qunari described as “giants,” and that was a fair description for such hulking men. Their pale, painted shoulders were broad and strong, as big across as two of Merrill. Each swing of their heavy swords and clubs looked effortless, but struck hard enough to leave Aveline dizzy. She barely raised her shield in time to meet the first blow leveled at her, and even with her considerable strength, her boots slid several inches backward in the sand. The Qunari stared down at her, gritting his teeth, his strange, dark eyes wild. She gave a determined cry forcing her shield forward with all of her weight, managing to push his arm back long enough to strike out at his side. He groaned, long horns bowing as he cringed, and she thrust her shield toward them, knocking his head down further with a loud crack. The blow forced him to his knees. But before she could strike again, she heard another rushing up behind her. She waited a few precious seconds before turning her sword on him at the last moment, running him through. He fell near his comrade with a strange groan, she sent the other to join him moments later.

Panting, she whirled around to find the others. Isabela was struggling against two more, slashing angrily at each as she swerved away from their swords. Hawke and Merrill seemed to be faring better, sending waves of ice against the advancing giants that forced them to their knees, or finished them altogether. With a grunt, Aveline charged toward Isabela, slamming into one of the Tal-Vashoth hard enough to make him drop his weapon in surprise. Isabela crouched down to stab up into his gut as he fell, then twirled around on her feet and thrust at the other just as Aveline struck at him from the other side.

“Aww, you do care after all!” Isabela grinned, wiping her daggers clean on the fallen Qunari’s horns.

Aveline scowled as she watched her. “Sure, you’re all for doing the right thing when it saves your hide.”

“I’m all for looking after myself. That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” Isabela said. She tucked her daggers back into their holders at her back.

“I think that’s the last of them,” Merrill huffed, coming up beside them. “Goodness, I’ve never seen anyone so big!”

“We ought to check that cave,” Hawke said, glancing toward the small mouth of rock a few feet away.

Isabela groaned, making a show of looking tired. Aveline rolled her eyes and shoved the pirate forward. It took Aveline a remarkable amount of restraint not to throw the woman into the sand when she turned back with that damned fool smirk and said, “Oooh, kinky!”


	9. Magistrate's Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke takes a particularly sensitive job from a city magistrate, and once she learns what really happened, Velanna cannot contain her rage, or the spirit behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to drag this chapter out of myself, figuring out how to do some of this was difficult, and I apologize once more for the delay. This chapter explores more of this strange relationship between Justice and Velanna, and how they work together. Trying to convey a conversation between the two without actually being able to have them have a conversation (since Anders is clear that this is not how it works in DA2) was a bit of a headache and I apologize if it's confusing at all. Also, it never made sense to me that environment-wise in-game it looks like Magistrate's Orders basically takes place in the Deep Roads, so I changed the environment a bit.

Velanna didn’t understand what was supposed to be appealing about the Hanged Man. The crowds and noise alone set her on edge, and wafting over it all came the heavy, bitter smell of ale and over-cooked stew, along with something rancid she felt uncomfortably certain was vomit. And then there was the suspicious stain on her end of the table she kept carefully shrinking away from, curling her nose each time she caught sight of it again. A fresh wave of laughter erupted from the next table over, and she frowned. So many people had stumbled in that night that there was barely room to move. How Varric managed to wrangle such a large table was a mystery, but it gave them little room anyway. Merrill sat so close she was nearly in Velanna’s lap, their shoulders pressed close together. At her other side, Fenris tried to hunch away, but his spiky pauldron kept brushing her arm.

It was strange to her, sitting among so many moving, shouting people, most towering above her even more than usual as they weaved past, bumping her head or scraping her back when they twisted to avoid each other. Even in living in the Keep, for all the soldiers and Wardens and servants bustling through the halls, never felt nearly so stifling, and that took nearly an Age for Velanna to get used to. Kirkwall was so full of people, ever so much more than Amaranthine. Refugees and workers and their families flooded Lowtown. The elves were herded and stacked together in the small corner allowed them. Even Hightown, the one time she glimpsed it, seemed lined on all sides with people moving one way or the other. So why anyone would then choose to pack into a foul-smelling, crowded tavern for _fun_ was beyond her comprehension.

But Hawke and Varric favored it as a meeting spot. She supposed it was easy to find, if nothing else. She felt reticent to spend so much time in the open, and watched constantly for templars or other telltale insignias each time they gathered there, but so far, no one seemed to even notice her presence. She hadn’t decided whether it was more a relief or an annoyance.

“Oh, the prince! He was quite handsome!” Merrill squealed near her ear, drawing Velanna’s attention sharply back to the conversation. “And his armor was so bright. How do you get armor that shiny, I wonder?”

“A little spit and a good rubbing always seems to do the trick for me,” Isabela said, to a few answering groans that only widened her smile.

“But you don’t have any armor, Isabela?” Merrill said, blinking at the pirate, then straightening suddenly. “Oh! Did I miss something?”

Velanna just scoffed, and Merrill gave her an earnestly confused look. Across the table, Isabela chuckled, “Don’t worry about it, kitten.”

The group chattered on while Velanna just leaned forward, pinching the bridge of her nose. A headache began to throb behind her temples as the noise around her only grew. She contemplated leaving, just shoving her chair back and marching out of the tavern to flee to the quiet of her rooms, and letting Hawke sort out his jobs with the others. But then, even her home afforded her little peace lately. The closer the expedition into the Deep Roads drew, the more agitated Justice seemed to become. He waited until the silence of the evening, once her teaching and work were done and the lantern doused. Then his restlessness seemed to invade her thoughts and emotions all at once, in no one way she could easily describe. Just the night before he finally refused to be ignored.

As she crawled into her little bed at the back of her apartment, a strong sense of doubt suddenly radiated through her mind, a nebulous but needling thing. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, hunching into the covers, but the feeling only grew stronger. When she turned angrily toward the wall, the doubt began taking shape, unbidden thoughts flitting through her mind, whispers of _Is this wise?_ and _You have important work to be done here_ and _This is a distraction_. She knew, without really knowing how, that he meant the expedition, and she frowned, tossing the blanket off of herself in frustration. She swung her feet to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed, and thought, _This will help us,_ though even in her head it sounded hollow. _The human thinks we will earn much_ , she tried, but before she could even finish the thought, another wave of doubt washed over her. She gritted her teeth.

Somehow, without the full thought or question in her mind, she knew that the feeling meant _That is not why you are doing this._

“No,” she said aloud, sighing, dropping the argument. He had always known, how could she even think to hide it? No, the expedition was not only a chance at coin. It was a chance -- one last chance -- to find any trace of Seranni.

Another clear thought came, and he had the nerve to make it feel like an epiphany. _You know what happened the last time you did this._

She frowned again and thought bitterly, _You know that I don’t!_

The answer was there, unshaped by words but feeling like fact, her whole consciousness being consumed by Justice to keep her from harm. But no clear memory could follow, only the image of a swarm of darkspawn pouring into an old room of the Deep Roads, and then a long, blank darkness that still unsettled her when she remembered it. Then her thoughts shifted away without warning to the pale face of her sister, and Velanna’s head shot up in surprise. She saw Seranni as she was the last time they met, ashen and gaunt and… _wrong_ , and walking away all over again. A thought followed, and this time she was not certain whether it was from Justice, or herself.

_You know the truth of her fate._

“I do not!” she cried to the empty room, clenching her fists in the sheets. “I do not. That is why I must look, just once last time, when I have finished with the help I promised them. Perhaps I will never know for certain, but I will not be denied this.”

There was a long moment of stillness in her head. The thought came more gently, when at last it came. _We are needed here._

“I know, and I will not abandon them,” she whispered. She looked up at the window across from her bed, seeing nothing outside but the stone wall of the next building, a faint torchlight flickering across it.

Another long moment passed, and then the heavy feeling of doubt receded, circling away like smoke. Justice fell silent, and Velanna let out a long breath. Still, she knew this was not the last of the argument.

Hawke’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the raucous tavern. She looked up more sharply than she meant to as he said, “Well anyway, we managed a sizable profit off of helping his highness, and we’re getting close. Only a little more, I think, and we should be ready. Which brings me to why we’re here. Apparently I’ve gotten more of a reputation than I realized.”

Carver scoffed. Hawke ignored him and continued, “A magistrate stopped us outside the Chantry this morning. He has a job for me.”

“A magistrate?” Aveline said, raising her eyebrows. “That’s… noteworthy.”

“What’s that?” Merrill whispered, glancing back at Velanna.

“It’s… some important human official,” Velanna replied.

“Apparently someone he threw in prison for life escaped to a ruin on the Coast and he wants him back,” Hawke said.

Aveline narrowed her eyes. “No offense, Hawke, but that sounds like a job for the guard.”

“Exactly what I told him. He said the guards can’t handle it. Something about… creatures in the ruins,” Hawke shrugged. “I’m to bring this man in quickly and quietly and that’s that.”

“Right. Quietly. For no reason of importance, I’m sure,” Varric snorted.

“I agree, this is fishy,” said Aveline.

Hawke shrugged again. “Everything we do is fishy. I wouldn’t have met half of you otherwise. Anyway, I planned to head there tomorrow afternoon. So, who wants to make some coin?”

“As much as I’d like to know what this is about, I’m afraid I’ve got too much work to do tomorrow,” Aveline said.

“I promised to help Daisy find some things in the market,” Varric said. When a few odd looks flew his way he added, “What? Last time she got thoroughly lost and I barely kept her from wandering into Darktown on sheer good timing. And anyway, she needs to learn how to bargain.”

“I’ve got that ball of twine now, Varric,” Merrill grinned. “Should be much better.”

“You should have told me you needed help,” Velanna grumbled.

Merrill turned. “Oh, but you were teaching and I didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t think it would be so confusing.”

“Right then,” Hawke said. “I know Carver can’t come--”

“What? Why?” Carver sat up.

“Mother will have my head,” Hawke replied.

“She can’t keep me prisoner forever,” said Carver, sinking back into his chair and folding his arms.

“Velanna?” Hawke turned to her.

“I suppose,” she mumbled.

“Brilliant. Fenris?”

The elf nodded once.

“I’ll come along,” Isabela spoke up, pushing her empty flagon away. She winked at Velanna, who scowled. Perhaps she should have turned home after all.

 

* * *

 

A storm was beginning to roll in from the sea just as they began the trek to the Coast. The clouds grew dark and heavy, and a cold wind ruffled the sand. Isabela seemed excited, launching into some tale of her ship caught in a storm at sea that had even Fenris chuckling. Velanna listened instead to the waves moving restlessly against the shore. She had felt uneasy as they passed through the city gates, and the feeling only grew the farther around the Coast they walked, like something in her chest being pulled taut. She saw no reason why; these jobs with Hawke were becoming routine, and rumors of creatures in these ruins they were seeking hardly seemed intimidating after years of traveling the Deep Roads and the old forests with their own haunted ruins. Yet the foreboding seemed unshakable. A quick glance at her companions told her they sensed none of this, laughing instead as Isabela’s hands fluttered and gestured with her story.

The cave was tucked deep into the mountainside, the path eventually leading them well away from the sea. A small band of guards hovered near the entrance, and Velanna tensed when she caught sight of them. But if he noticed the telltale signs of mages, the guard that finally approached them made no mention.

“I hear you’re in need of a bit of help,” Hawke called when the man drew near.

“So you’re the reinforcements the magistrate promised,” the guard said, scratching his chin. “The man you’re looking for has holed up in the ruins. Though I doubt he’s still in one piece.”

“That bastard’s to be brought in alive after all he’s done?!”

A disheveled-looking elf appeared behind them, emerging from a few taller boulders off to the left, and Velanna automatically reached for her staff. The elf practically snarled at the guard as he came to stand near them, shouting, “Just because it isn’t you and your pretty little shemlen children he’s after!”

She straightened up immediately at that, frowning as she saw the guard roll his eyes. Hawke held up a hand and said, “Please! Calm down, and tell me what happened.”

“The man you’re after? He targets elves!”  the man cried, jabbing a finger toward the cave. “He dragged my daughter into those ruins and killed her! I want him _dead_!”

Velanna went rigid, her eyes fixed on him as a powerful flash of rage shot through her body. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to tear that cave apart stone by stone until she found this murderer and tore him to shreds, and then burned those shreds to dust. The anger was so sudden and so strong that she felt dizzy, and she could felt Justice stir within her. She forced her hands back to her sides to keep from taking her staff and doing just as she desired.

The elf seemed to collect himself, hanging his head and saying more quietly, “My daugher Lia? She wasn’t his first victim. Over the years he’s taken dozens of our children, and not once has he paid for his crimes!”

The guard shifted uncomfortably but made no move to contradict him. Velanna felt her face grow hot, and she balled her hands into white-knuckled fists as she fought for control of her anger, and Justice with it. She almost hissed “Not here!” aloud, managing instead to keep it in her head. Distantly, she heard Hawke ask the man’s name, and she tried to turn her attention back to him.

“My name is Elren. I’m a merchant in the city,” he said. “Please. No one else cares that our children are being slaughtered like beasts.”

“How many other parents have suffered as he?” Velanna said, unable to keep quiet any longer, and feeling as if she might burst. “How many innocent children whose lives mean nothing to those who could stop this man? This _must_ end.”

“There must be… some humans that would take offense to these disappearances?” Hawke said, glancing between them. Velanna curled her lip, and she heard Fenris scoff quietly behind her.

“We’re nothing to them,” Elren said, “Even if this murderer does finally go before the courts, the magistrate won’t take our word over his.”

“A man who murders children won’t survive long in the courts of Kirkwall,” Hawke insisted.

Velanna felt ready to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. How could he possibly be so dense?

But Elren spoke before she could. “No! Don’t you understand? If you take him in, he’ll be free again by nightfall! For all my damned coin, I’m still an elf to these shemlen. There’ll be no justice for my girl in the courts of Kirkwall.”

“No human magistrate is going to side with an elf,” Fenris said softly from behind Velanna. She expected Hawke to argue, but instead Hawke simply looked back at Fenris, then at Velanna, a pensive frown on his lips. After a moment, he gave a small nod.

“Then this murderer cannot be allowed to walk free,” he said, turning back to Elren. Velanna blinked at him in surprise.

“That bastard will finally get what he deserves. Thank you,” the elf said.

“Not wise, stranger,” the guard finally spoke up, shaking his head. “You try to take justice into your own hands, the magistrate’ll have your head.”

“You know nothing of justice,” Velanna snarled, but Hawke held up a hand.

“Better men have tried and failed. Horribly,” he said simply.

The guard shook his head again and waved them off, mumbling to himself. Hawke looked back at the group and jerked his head toward the entrance.

The inside of the cave did indeed appear to be ruins, though much of walls and columns were so old and crumbling their make would be impossible to discern, even if it wasn’t so dark. It could have been a very old, lost arm of the Deep Roads, though Velanna sensed not even the faintest glimmer of darkspawn for miles. A couple of torches hung near the entrance, but only a solid blackness waited beyond, so Hawke snatched one of them from its sconce. He led the way down a long passage, the torchlight falling across faint carvings on the walls.

“Come on, you bastard, where are you?” Hawke mumbled to himself, circling the torch in front of him.

Suddenly a skittering noise came from above them, and all of them stopped at once. Something flashed through the torchlight on the ceiling, then disappeared just as quickly back into the darkness. Velanna whirled to look behind them as the others checked the walls, but nothing seemed out of place. Carefully, Hawke lifted the torch higher again, moving the light across the ceiling. Just as he was about to lower it, the light caught on a row of black, glinting eyes, watching from corner where the passage turned. The creature hissed and scampered back over the ceiling toward them. Velanna gasped as she heard another noise behind her, and then more coming suddenly along the walls. Hawke dropped the torch and wrenched his staff free from his back, his hands immediately lighting with fire. The passage lit up to show a dozen massive cave spiders crawling toward them.

Hawke let the fire grow between his hands, then launched it out, propelling it with his staff and knocking several of the spiders back. A few of them went ablaze as the fire grazed them, and they shrieked, lunging for him. Just as one leapt into the air, Isabela twirling out of the shadows, jabbing a dagger deep into his underbelly. She yanked the blade free and then leapt at the next spider, slashing its legs. Nearby, Fenris hacked his way through several of the creatures crawling along the walls as they lashed out at him with their legs. With a loud cry, he set his markings alight, smashing a glowing fist through the head of one while his sword cut deeply through another. Just behind him, Velanna sent a bolt of lightning that struck one spider and volleyed to two others, stunning all of them. She quickly brought a wave of force magic down on top of them, crushing them to the floor.

The fighting continued for several minutes, the cave walls lighting up with strange flashes of magic and the eerie glow of Fenris’s markings, the shadows leaping and stretching as dust filled the air. At last they stood panting together in a pile of dead spiders, limp and sticky on the cave floor.

Isabela kicked the head of one of them, frowning in disgust. “I am never going to get the smell of dead spiders out of my clothes at this rate.”

Velanna plucked a few bits of gore from the feathered pauldrons on her shoulders, eyeing the floor as she tried to pick her way free of the corpses. She nearly stepped on a severed spider leg as she moved, and she groaned. “Why must it always be spiders? Creator-forsaken beasts, the Void take you all!”

“Maybe the guard was right, at this rate,” Fenris said as he examined the viscera on his sword and wrinkled his nose, “Maybe this man is dead in here.”

“Then this will be quick,” Hawke said, grabbing the torch from the floor.

The passage led them to an old stone door that took some effort to slide open, and sent them down another winding tunnel. Hawke kept the torch high, eyeing the ceilings as they went. They pushed through a few sticky spider webs, but aside from some dusty barrels left here and there along the passage, it seemed blessedly empty. After a long, curving stretch, they heard a loud scream. Firelight greeted them around the corner, and they rushed ahead, weapons ready, into a wide room lined with torches on all sides. At the center, a young elf girl cowered on the floor as strange, skeletal creatures rose twitching from the ground all around her, stumbling toward her. She screamed again, covering her head with her arms.

“Leave her alone!” Hawke shouted, and the creatures all immediately stopped to look up at him. The girl quickly scampered out of their reach, huddling in a corner behind the group. Velanna immediately leaned down, summoning magic to her hand and sending it through the ground. The floor shook violently beneath the skeletons, knocking most of them off of their feet as they scrambled for balance. Hawke sent another volley of fireballs at them before Fenris and Isabela barrelled forward with blades drawn, sending bones flying through the air. While Hawke kept the closest creatures off of their feet, Velanna wheeled around behind them to a pair of skeletal archers holding their footing in the back. They turned their arrows on her but she managed to dodge them, swinging her staff around to crack across the nearest creature’s arms, forcing the bow to fall. She kicked him back while sending a bolt of magic at the second. A powerful field of force magic then crushed them both to the ground. Within seconds, all of the creatures had collapsed, leaving nothing but piles of bones.

Hawke turned immediately to the girl in the corner, who slowly rose to her feet. She trembled as she asked, “Who are you? Please, can you get me out of here? I just wanna go home.”

“You’re safe, dalen,” Velanna said, arriving at Hawke’s side.

“Lia?” Hawke asked, squinting to examine her. “Your father… told us you were dead.”

“My father? Is he safe?” Lia said, glancing quickly between them. “Kelder said he’d hurt my family if I didn’t come with him.”

Velanna felt her rage rapidly returning to boil beneath her skin, and her grip on her staff tightened. Hawke leaned down and asked, “Who is Kelder?”

“The man who took me,” Lia said softly, hanging her head.

Hawke looked her over. “I don’t see any injuries. Are you all right?”

Lia began wringing her hands, still trembling, as she said, “He hit me, told me I was nothing. I begged him to stop hurting me.” She looked up at Hawke. “I didn’t think he would, but out of nowhere he pushed me away and just… started crying.”

She let her hands fall. “Don’t you see? He didn’t mean to hurt me! He told me there are demons, they make him do these horrible things!”

Velanna frowned, gritted her teeth and beginning to shake herself with the effort of keeping her anger--or Justice’s--in check. The others took no notice, with Hawke instead staring at Lia in alarm.

“What kind of demons? What did they look like?”

“I… don’t know what they look like,” Lia said, “I didn’t actually see any of them. But Kelder told me to run, to get away so they couldn’t make him hurt me anymore. Please don’t kill him! It’s not his fault. Please…”

Fenris shook his head. “She is a child, and does not understand. Her pity is admirable, but misplaced.”

 _Admirable?_ Velanna bit her lip to keep from barking out that the man deserved nothing less than death for this girl and all the others. She wanted to grab Lia by the shoulders, to shake her from her stupor -- couldn’t she see what a horrible thing this man had done to her? Then Velanna froze. For a moment, she was in a tower far back across the sea, staring into the blank eyes of her sister as Seranni whispered, “You will see as I have seen…”

“Kelder is dangerous, Lia. If he fights back, I can’t promise that he won’t get hurt,” Velanna heard Hawke say.

Can’t promise… he won’t get hurt? The rage in Velanna’s body turned white hot, shooting through her so fast and so intensely that her knees nearly buckled. Her hands shook hard enough that her staff trembled with them, and her eyes went wide as she stared at the back of Hawke’s head. She couldn’t hear Lia’s reply for the thunder of her own heartbeat in her ears, and as she watched the girl duck past them with Hawke’s torch in hand, scampering back down the passage they’d come from, the room suddenly seemed too bright. Her vision went white, and a furious heat bolted across her skin. She cried out.

Then, just as suddenly, there was only darkness, and a voice rumbling in the distance that did not belong to her.

 

* * *

 

When Velanna woke to herself again, she felt stone, hard and cold against her knees. She stared down at it, disoriented and blinking. The Deep Roads…? No, the stone did not feel of corruption.

“This is foolish. She is an abomination.”

A voice, above her, deep and familiar. She raised a hand to her face. Sweat clung to her skin and her robes, and she felt dizzy.

“Abominations are usually a lot uglier.”

“Fine, joke if you wish, but traveling with her is putting us in danger.”

“Going after a murderer wasn’t dangerous anyway?”

“That’s precisely my point.”

“Will both of you knock it off? I think she’s back now.”

Slowly, Velanna raised her head, blinking the figures in front of her into focus. She saw Fenris first, scowling down at her, and then Isabela. Hawke, she realized, knelt next to her.

“Velanna?” he asked quietly. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she jerked back instinctively, stumbling to her feet. She scrabbled for the wall, her vision still swimming.

“What happened?” she groaned.

“Your demon came out to play.”

“Fenris!” Hawke snapped. “Let her get her bearings.”

Velanna glared in Fenris’s direction. “My _spirit_.” Then she frowned. “Justice… did he…?”

“You were glowing,” Isabela said, “Glowing green all over and demanding we kill this Kelder or whatever his name is. When Hawke finally convinced you that the man would see… well, justice,” she gave a small snort, “you collapsed and here we are.”

A nasty headache was beginning to beat against Velanna’s temples. Hawke leaned his head over to study her face and asked, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she grumbled. She closed her eyes, rubbing her head, and then said more softly, “I’m fine, I just need a moment.”

“Maybe you ought to wait here while--”

“That will not be necessary,” she said firmly, slowly straightening. “I _will_ see this through.”

She ignored the looks her companions shared, smoothing her robes and glancing around for her staff.

Hawke sighed. “Velanna, will it… will Justice come out again when we--”

“I _said_ it was fine,” she snapped, whirling around. “Are we going to argue all day or are we going to find this monster?”

Hawke opened his mouth again, then slowly shut it. He frowned but said no more, turning instead to retrieve another torch from the wall. Velanna’s cheeks burned, and she stared at the floor, refusing to meet Fenris’s glare or Isabela’s gaze. She trailed behind them as they began down the next passage. The raw need for this man to pay for his crimes thundered through her as strong as ever as they walked. She willed Justice to calm, and her headache to ease, but neither obeyed.

The dusty tunnel soon led them to another door. Hawke threw all of his weight against it to push it open, nearly singing himself on the torch as he did. The door scraped loudly against the floor, its hinges groaning, but it opened at last to reveal another room lined with torches. This one was smaller than the last, and had several stone pillars around it. At the base of a far one a figure sat crumpled on the floor, head bowed to his knees. Velanna could feel her anger beginning to boil again, and she clamped her hands around her staff. The man looked up as they approached.

“I knew my father would eventually send someone,” he said, his voice flat. “I was hoping the beasts down here would get to me first.”

Hawke furrowed his brow. “You… wanted these creatures to kill you? Why?”

“It’s what I deserve,” Kelder replied. “I should be torn apart, forgotten down here, not protected by my father.”

Kelder’s voice held no emotion as he spoke, sounding only even and distant. It sent chills down Velanna’s spine, but so unexpected was his answer that it also cooled the rage rebuilding in her.

Hawke cocked his head. “The magistrate sent me. I’ve never even met your father.”

Kelder pushed himself to his feet. Though worn and dusty, his clothes were of fine make, even the hood pulled over his head. He stared at Hawke, but seemed neither angry nor afraid, simply… resigned. Velanna watched him carefully.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Kelder said after a moment. “The magistrate is my father. He’s tried so hard to keep me, and what I’ve done, hidden away.”

“Not hard enough, so it seems,” Fenris muttered.

“He’s known,” Velanna growled, glaring at Kelder, “the magistrate has known and he’s been protecting you this whole time while elven lives are lost and ignored!”

She nearly raised her staff then and there, but Isabela whispered, “Easy there, tiger.” Velanna turned her glare on the pirate, but made no further move when Hawke spoke again.

“Like she said, the magistrate is supposed to protect the people of the city, and that includes elves.”

Velanna blinked at him, and her grip on her staff eased. Kelder shifted, beginning to wring his hands.

“Father is a good man,” he said, “He tried to help, to stop me, but he can’t. No one can.” He turned away, bowing his head. “That elf girl--she had no right to be so beautiful, so perfect. The demons said she needed to be taught a lesson like all the others.”

Suddenly his hands clenched, and he turned back around. “The Circle was supposed to help me, but they lied. The said there were no demons, that I was mad! This isn’t my fault!”

“Coward,” said Isabela, shaking her head. “Doesn’t even have the balls to own his own depravity.”

“If the Circle suspected a demon at work, they wouldn’t risk setting you loose on the city,” Hawke said.

“No!” Kelder cried. “They lied! I can’t stop! I’ve tried, so many times! Please, you’ll have to kill me. There’s no other way.”

“He sees the truth of it,” Fenris said, turning to Hawke. “Though I do not wish to say so, the spirit was right. Allow me to grant his wish before the abomination returns, if you will not.”

Velanna grit her teeth, scowling at him, but nonetheless felt something ease inside of her. Hawke gave Fenris a look but nodded after a moment, then glanced at the man before them and said, “Any last words before he kills you, Kelder?”

Kelder bowed his head as Fenris stepped in front of him. “Tell my father… I’m sorry.”

Every marking on Fenris’s body, even those beneath his leathers, lit up a brilliant white. With a snarl, the elf shoved his gauntlet through the man’s chest. There was a sickening, wet squish, and Kelder gasped. Then Fenris wrenched his hand free again, letting the man crumple at his feet. All the lingering dread and anger in Velanna faded at last. Slowly, she clipped her staff back into place at her back and took a few deep breaths.

“Disgusting,” Isabela muttered as they turned away. Hawke glanced at Velanna, but she turned away quickly, suddenly desperate to leave the ruins. Her head still ached, and her robes were itchy and clinging from all the sweat and fore. She needed to be somewhere where they wouldn’t keep staring at her. She kept behind the others as they turned back down the passageway.

  


* * *

 

 

“So the Dread Wolf said--”

A soft knock sounded on the door to Velanna’s home, and the elves around the table all looked toward it anxiously. Several days had passed since the incident in the ruins, and Velanna had kept to her rooms, teaching and reading. But she knew the peace would not last. Lowering the book in her hands, she called, “You may enter.”

The door creaked open, and Hawke peered inside, his head poke around the corner. “Ah… bad time, eh?”

Velanna sighed, then shook her head. She placed the book carefully on the table, laying a ribbon across the page before shutting it. “We shall resume tomorrow,” she said to the elves, “Dareth shiral.”

They echoed her quietly, glancing at Hawke and whispering to each other as they filed past. Hawke stepped further into the room, hovering hesitantly near the edge of the table until Velanna motioned for him to sit.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. Velanna waved him off, busying herself by collecting the books scattered across the table. She couldn’t quite look at him, and the silence stretched a few minutes.

Once the table was clear, she leaned against her desk and finally said, “Elren wasted no time telling the whole alienage about you. You’re quite the story now.”

“Me?” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see why.”

“Don’t you?” Velanna narrowed her eyes. “Why are you doing this? What are you gaining out of it?”

Hawke frowned. “What? Doing what?”

“Helping elves, doing these jobs,” Velanna said. “I thought it was the coin, but then there was Arianni, and I’m certain the Magistrate won’t thank you for killing his son.”

“Am I on trial here?” Hawke held up his hands.

Velanna studied him a moment longer before sighing and shaking her head. “No… I… no, I’m not… ungrateful. It is simply as Elren said, and Fenris. Justice for elves is no priority in this or any city. You see how we are herded here, kept in our pen, barked into docility. Then you come and do these things and say you expect nothing in return. Why should we not be suspicious?”

Hawke looked down at his knees. “If you think I have an ulterior motive, I’m afraid you’re overestimating me. I’m just a man trying to keep his family together, or what’s left of it. I know what it’s like to lose people, and I know what it’s like when your family is all that you have. It’s not exactly the same, of course, and I know that. But if I can help someone, keep them from having to go through that, regardless of whether they’re human or elf or dwarf, then I will. We’re all struggling, but some far more than others. My family isn’t stranger to that. While you’re right, I do need coin, and I have done some underhanded things to get it, I have not and will never seek it at the expense of innocent people or people who need it even more. If it comes down to that or coin, then bugger the coin. There’s always other jobs. That’s it, I’m afraid.”

Velanna stared at him, narrowing her eyes again, before she said softly, “That is a rare thing, and not something any of us encounter often.”

Hawke nodded and shrugged. “It’s just how my family’s always been. My sister more so than any of us.”

Velanna pursed her lips. “You… mentioned her before. _Ir abelas_. I…” she swallowed heavily, “I too have… my sister has gone.”

Hawke’s face softened a little. “I’m sorry.”

Velanna shook her head, letting the silence fall between them. After a moment, Hawke said, “You would have liked Bethany, I think. She had a gentleness about her, and a big heart. She was a mage too. She died protecting my mother from an ogre when we fled Lothering.”

“An ogre?” Velanna looked up. “That is… that is a brave deed, and no small feat.”

Hawke nodded. They lapsed into silence again until Velanna asked, “Was there something you wanted to discuss?”

“Oh, I… suppose just to make sure you were all right,” Hawke said, glancing up. “After… after the cave, and…”

“Justice,” Velanna finished for him, and he nodded again. She looked down, frowning slightly, uncertain where to begin or what to say. “I told you that it is not something I can control. He is as much a part of me as a limb, and every bit as attuned and connected.”

She glanced up to find Hawke looking at her pensively, and she looked quickly to the floor again. His gaze was heavy and she turned uncomfortably toward her desk to flee it.

“That scares you.” He sounded surprised, but certain, and she froze, startled by the truth of it.

“Well how would you feel?” she snapped, turning again.

“Terrified, most likely,” he said. “I can’t easily imagine, and if I can be honest, I don’t want to.”

Velanna reached behind her to curl her fingers around the top of her desk chair. “I didn’t know what would happen. I thought perhaps a friend, a willing host… it would be better than seeking out corpses.”

“...Corpses?” said Hawke.

Velanna bit her lip, but then she found the story pouring from her almost before she knew it. She told him of meeting Justice, of being trapped in the Fade in the Blackmarsh, of Justice’s exile to a soldier’s corpse.

“It’s funny,” she said when she finished, “I can… remember a conversation we had once, after I asked him what he planned to do when his body… fell apart, for lack of a better term. He said he could likely find and inhabit another corpse, that a female body might offer a different perspective. I told him, ‘If I die in your presence, you stay away from my body, you hear me?’”

Hawke chuckled, and Velanna found herself smirking slightly at the memory. Strange how good it felt to tell someone that tale. It seemed now to have been another lifetime, a life left a whole sea voyage and another country behind. Her smile faded. “I haven’t spoken of that since… since coming here.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of anything like it. But I suppose the Wardens encounter strange things like that all the time,” said Hawke, tilting his head a bit.

Velanna quirked her lips. “I could… certainly tell a few tales.”

Hawke smiled, then looked away. “Listen, Velanna… I’m out of my depth here. But if you’re willing to help us and you’re not planning to slaughter us all in our sleep, that’s good enough for me.”

“That was not at the top of my to-do list,” she said, giving him another small smirk. “...yet.”

Long after Hawke left, Velanna sat at one of her tables with a book, trying to concentrate on the yellowing pages, but her mind kept wandering back to Amaranthine. She thought of the strange, rotting thing Justice had once been, following them around the city as everyone stared and whispered. She thought of her other companions, the chatty dwarves constantly teasing her, the insufferably flirtatious mage, the patient but fearless commander, and… she frowned, squeezing her eyes shut.

What would they think of her now?


	10. Shepherding Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke unexpectedly bond before Hawke announces they've gotten the coin for the expedition. Meanwhile, running into a Chantry sister outside the Hanged Man sends them on a quest that leaves Fenris reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been really dragging my feet on this chapter, and I'm so sorry updates take so long. But I think in the end I'm satisfied with how this came out. Diving into Fenris's head is always an interesting challenge, and I really wanted to get it right. I also tweaked some of the game dialogue a little because I didn't like the way Hawke responded to a couple of things. 
> 
> There is a lot of game dialogue in this, so I apologize if that ends up making it feel repetitive, but when I do include that sort of thing, I'm trying to make it feel like this really could have been the way the game went, but also give you a different perspective on it. 
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy it.

Garrett Hawke was quite possibly the most inscrutable man Fenris ever met.

After a long, unusually silent week, Fenris expected the knock when it came. He expected Hawke to be standing on the other side of the door, despite that the hour fell well past evening. What he did not expect was Hawke alone, bearing a bottle of wine and a sheepish smile instead of a job, and when he did not immediately launch into a carefully crafted speech to get Fenris to accompany him to some raider den or mountain cave or Darktown rathole, Fenris frowned.

“Peace offering?” said Hawke at last, waving the bottle a little. “You didn’t seem fond of ale.”

“Peace offering,” Fenris repeated flatly, quirking an eyebrow. “Are we at war?”

“I rather hoped not,” Hawke said, shifting on his feet. “Could we...talk?”

Fenris hesitated a moment before he opened the door wider, watching Hawke as he stepped over the threshold. They had not spoken since leaving the ruins on the Coast. Fenris rarely sought their company on his own anyway, but he felt determined to take the magistrate’s job as a grim reminder that none of these companions could be trusted. And as the week stretched, he thought perhaps Hawke had decided his own companionship was not worth the trouble either. He had tried to feel relieved, and tried harder not to wonder why he was not.

Fenris carefully clicked the locks on the door back into place and turned to find Hawke already wandering into the main room. The mage toed one of the corpses still flopped across the floor, and raised an eyebrow at Fenris.

“In all these weeks you still haven’t gotten rid of the bodies?” he said.

Fenris shrugged. When Hawke continued to look at him expectantly, he said simply, “I have cleaned enough of Danarius’s messes.”

Hawke looked at him a moment longer before he gave a little dip with his head. Fenris saw no reason to discuss it further, but in truth, there was a part of him that felt sure his days in the mansion were numbered. Danarius would come, that was certain, and this could end, one way or the other. He saw no reason to tidy a place that might just be like any other campsite he left behind in his days on the run. And it wasn’t all a lie, really. If Fenris did clean up the mansion, and then Danarius defeated him, well… Fenris would be damned if the magister would take something else that Fenris came to call his own. So long as the mansion remained just a simple makeshift shelter, nothing more, everything was easier. And so he tried to feel little attachment to the house, to the city, to these strange companions, and to feel nothing when no one came to his door. It would all disappear anyway, in the end. But Fenris kept this to himself, and said nothing as he reached for the bottle Hawke held out of him, leading the mage up the stairs into the only room he used.

He set the bottle on the desk, where a few glasses already sat, along with a few more bottles.

Hawke chuckled and said, “And here I thought I was being creative with that gift.”

Fenris quirked his lips, freeing the cork. “Danarius left a full cellar behind him. But I...appreciate the thought, nonetheless.”

He gestured for Hawke to sit down on a bench in front of the fireplace. He filled two glasses and handed one to Hawke, seating himself on another bench and taking a heavy drink from his own. It was cheap, and a little bitter, but he swallowed it gladly. He had the feeling he would need it.

“There was something you wanted to discuss?” he asked as Hawke took a tentative sip of his own.

The mage sighed. “Velanna.”

Fenris frowned and took another heavy drink. “What about her?”

“I know… you think it’s unwise, keeping her around, taking her with us on the Expedition…”

“’Unwise’ is a forgiving way of putting it. She is dangerous.”

Hawke sighed again, the sort of sigh he seemed to use whenever his brother tried his patience. After a moment, he said, “I don’t disagree with you.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. That was unexpected.

Hawke lifted his glass, turning it in his hands, mulling over his words.  “I don’t disagree that she’s dangerous and I don’t disagree that taking her with us is a risk. Being a mage, I should know better than anyone the kind of risk it is.”

The elf set his glass down. That was _very_ unexpected.

“But this whole thing is a risk,” Hawke continued, gesturing vaguely. “She is dangerous. Merrill is dangerous. Isabela is dangerous. You’re dangerous. I’m dangerous. And the Deep Roads are incredibly dangerous.”

Fenris shifted, staring into the fire. He said nothing.

“It’s true, one of us mages could somehow snap and turn into an abomination, or Velanna’s spirit could take over and kill us all, or Merrill could enthrall one of us. But none of that has happened so far. Justice seems more interested in avenging wronged elves than he does in cold-blooded murder. Merrill seems more interested in picking flowers than summoning demons. And I find it far more likely that the darkspawn will come and eat us all alive before we even have the chance to start killing each other. There are a thousand things that could go wrong. I wouldn’t be doing this in the first place if I wasn’t absolutely desperate.”

“Fair enough,” Fenris said, not quite meeting Hawke’s eye, “But why add to the risks? And why protect them? They have chosen reckless and foolish paths, and they will hurt others if not themselves in the end. I have seen the sort of horrors they are capable of, and the damage that can come of them. So yes, I do find that unwise.”

Hawke ran a hand through his hair. “As I said, I don’t disagree. But I don’t have the luxury of being choosy about where I get help from. The fewer mercenaries in this company whose loyalty I have to find the coin to afford, the better. At least I know what I’m getting into here. Besides all that, every one of you that’s become a part of this has needed help in one questionable way or another, you as much as anyone else. Maybe they are reckless and foolish, but who am I to hold that against them when I’ve made my living in this city as a mercenary and a bounty hunter? Maybe having a friend will help more than having one more person pointing fingers, hmm?”

“You are over-simplifying things,” said Fenris. “A possessed or corrupt mage is far more dangerous than a mercenary.”

“Maybe and maybe not. That would depend on the situation, wouldn’t it?” Hawke said.

“You are the most irrationally optimistic man in existence,” said Fenris, shaking his head.

Hawke chuckled, setting his glass down. “You wouldn’t be the first to think so.”

The elf looked back into the fire, frowning slightly. “Why do you wish to convince me of these things, anyway? This is your expedition, and you may choose to do as you see fit.”

“Partly because we finally have enough coin to do it, at last,” Hawke said.

“Truly?” said Fenris. “Congratulations are in order then, I suppose.”

“So there’s that. But more than that, you agreed to be a part of it, so your feelings matter as much as anyone’s,” Hawke said, and it surprised Fenris enough to look at him again, but Hawke’s eyes had fallen to his glass. “And you have… a lot of insight, I like to hear what you have to say.”

“Though I almost always disagree with you?” Fenris said.

“My father used to say that if we only ever listened to the people who agreed with us, we would never learn anything,” Hawke answered, a small smile crossing his lips at the memory. “He usually said it to stop Carver and I from killing each other, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

Fenris smirked slightly before he thought better of it, and swallowed the rest of his wine to hide it. This was not the conversation he expected to have when he opened the door to find Hawke there. In fact, it seemed that each time he resolved to remain guarded, Hawke did something else to seem genuine and honorable, or as honorable as any of them could claim to be. Warmed by the wine and how good it felt just to sit and talk to someone about, well, anything, Fenris found himself wondering something dangerous. What if it wasn’t all an act after all? If Hawke was simply, honestly just a decent man, though perhaps misguided and more than a little foolish? With the others it remained to be seen, but perhaps with Hawke…

Shaking his head to clear it, Fenris rose to retrieve Hawke’s wine bottle from the desk. Hawke lifted his head.

“Perhaps we ought to be drinking whatever you have there. I’m sure this place was well stocked with something far better than I could find.”

Fenris paused, his hand hovering near the bottle, and after a moment he reached instead for one of the others. He glanced over the label. “Agreggio Pavali. There are six bottles of it in the cellar.”

Fenris’s eyes drifted across the room, staring at nothing, as he thought back across a few long, dark years. “Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed.”

“I can’t imagine why they would be put off.”

Fenris glanced up at Hawke to find the man smirking at him. His grin faltered when Fenris narrowed his eyes a bit. The man certainly was… well, charming would be generous. “You say what’s on your mind, I’ll give you that.”

Fenris looked back down at the half-empty bottle, glowering at it for a moment. Then he turned and threw it toward the wall, watching with satisfaction as the wine splashed across the expensive wallpaper, staining it a ruddy purple.

“It’s good I can still take pleasure in the small things,” he murmured.

“You could have offered me a glass first, you know,” Hawke said behind him, folding his arms.

Fenris shrugged, waving toward the desk. “There’s more, if you’re really interested.”

“Perish the thought,” Hawke shook his head dramatically, “How else would you redecorate the walls?”

Fenris couldn’t help a small chuckle, thought he smothered it quickly with groan. Hawke frowned as he did, eyeing him carefully. Fenris turned away, uncomfortable, and reached for Hawke’s bottle of wine instead.

“You’ve had a difficult life.”

Fenris wondered how he managed to make it sound so trite and yet so sympathetic all at once. “I’d rather not speak more of it.”

“Are you certain?” said Hawke. “I’m willing to listen.”

Fenris looked up. “To my whining? Very charitable of you.”

It sounded harsher than he really meant it. Hawke was the first ever to ask such a thing, and though Fenris doubt his sincerity, he couldn’t deny that some small part of him was grateful. He filled his wine glass and then handed the bottle to Hawke.

“I’ve wanted to leave my past behind me, but it won’t stay there,” he sighed, sitting back down and taking a deep drink from his glass. Anxious to speak of something else, he finally said, “Tell me, have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?”

Hawke sighed, looking suddenly wistful. “I grew up in Ferelden. It will always be my home.”

“The Blight is over. You could rebuild what you lost,” Fenris persisted, “Do you truly not want to?”

“My mother came from Kirkwall. Our heritage is here,” Hawke said, though it sounded a little flat.

Fenris nodded, taking another sip. “Having a place you can put down roots, I understand.” He stared down at his glass. “Still, to have the option...must be gratifying.”

He heard Hawke swallow, then ask, “Do you… intend to keep living here?”

“I haven’t decided,” Fenris said honestly, “For now, it’s as good as any other place. I would return to Seheron if I could, but… there is no life for me there.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Hawke quirked his head. “Were you… very young when you left, then?”

“Perhaps,” Fenris shrugged.

They talked on, about Danarius, and Fenris’s plans, and of his time on the run. Though he meant it when he said he would rather not speak of it, something about the way Hawke looked at him made the words tumble out easily. Hawke seemed genuinely interested. They talked until they’d worked their way through the whole bottle. Hawke shook it a bit in surprise when he reached for it, then glanced at Fenris. “I suppose that should be my cue to call it a night.”

He rose, holding out the bottle for Fenris. “A bit more interior decoration for you?”

Fenris chuckled, reaching for it and setting on the bench next to him. “Perhaps I’ll spare this one.”

He followed Hawke to the hall, sidestepping the refuse still strewn about from their battle. As Hawke reached the door, he turned. “You know, if you’re looking to start a new life, you could stay.”

Fenris leaned against the wall. “I could see myself staying--for the right reasons.”

Hawke gave him a lopsided smile, pulling the door open. “In any case, come to the Hanged Man tomorrow night. We’re going to tell everyone that we have the money.”

Fenris moved to stand at the door, hesitating a moment before he nodded. “As you wish. ...You know, I should thank you again for helping me against the hunters.”

“Yes, you should,” Hawke said, still smiling.

“Had I known Anso would find me a man so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner.”

It was out of Fenris’s mouth before he even realized it, and he tried to keep how startled he was from his face. Damn that wine. Still, the way Hawke’s smile quirked was… gratifying, and he held Fenris’s gaze.

“You sound as if you’re about to ask for a loan,” he said after a moment, seeming to remember himself.

“Well, this mansion does require some upkeep,” Fenris replied with a smirk of his own, letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

As Hawke stepped through the door, Fenris nearly left it at that, but something in him suddenly felt bold, and he said, “Perhaps I’ll practice my flattery for your next visit? With any luck I’ll become better at it.”

Hawke stopped in his tracks, turning back around to look straight at the elf with a strange sort of glint in his eye. Then he smiled. “I’d like that.”

Fenris watched him disappear around the corner, and then slowly shut the door and leaned against it. What just happened? His next visit? When did I even decide I wanted…?

That was a very far leap from suspicion. He wondered exactly how potent that wine had been. Still, that little smirk on Hawke’s lips… Fenris shook himself and began to stumble toward the cellar. This called for reinforcements.

 

* * *

 

True to his word, Fenris wandered into the Hanged Man the following evening. He carefully avoided Hawke’s gaze when the mage saw him and grinned, waving him over. The violent headache that ripped through his head the moment his eyes opened that morning now settled to a dull pounding, but he still ignored the flagon of ale Varric slid toward him as he slumped into a seat in the corner. The rest of the ramshackle group already filled the table. Even Aveline, still clad in full guard armor, found time to pull up a chair, though she too seemed to be avoiding the ale. By the time he finally raised his eyes to Hawke, who stood at the table’s head, he had turned away to say something to Carver.

After Hawke stumbled out his door the night before, Fenris turned the evening over and over in his mind (between gulps of wine straight from the bottle). In the little of his life he remembered, Fenris had found a few others attractive enough to warrant more than a passing glance. Yet as a slave he found little time for such thoughts, and on the run, even less. His muscles remained forever tensed to bolt or to fight, and there seemed little room for the thought of even a night’s companionship. Beyond that, the idea of allowing someone that close, especially a mage he still feared to trust, felt… alarming, for many reasons, more than a few of which he had no desire to dwell on. There was a part of him, a part that only seemed to speak after several bottles of wine, that reminded him he was free, he should be able to flirt cavalierly if he wished, he should enjoy himself. But instinct told him that could only bring danger, and pain.

He looked away from Hawke and down at his hands, and the lines of lyrium burned across his palms. Even the thought of another touching them made him flinch, though the only pain that lingered was the memory. He thought again of the witch on the mountainside, murmuring to him. The chains are broken, but are you truly free? Was he forever to be haunted by too many memories, and not enough?

“All right,” Hawke called, cutting into his thoughts. Fenris curled his fingers closed over his brands, but he caught Varric watching him curiously from the next seat over.

Hawke continued, “So, I called you all here to announce that dragging you all through Darktown and back alleys and haunted caves has finally paid off.”

He grinned again, leaning across the table. “We finally have enough to fund the expedition.”

The group cheered, Isabela insisting on a toast (more, Fenris suspected, for the excuse to finish her ale and weasel a second round out of Hawke than out of any genuine enthusiasm). Fenris lifted his flagon with them anyway, nodding to Hawke with a quirk of his lips, but he set it down again without a drink.

Varric leaned over, tilting his head thoughtfully at Fenris, who frowned.

“What?” the elf growled.

“Is brooding a sport in Tevinter?” said Varric, taking another swig of ale. “Do they hold competitions? Hand out trophies for the best scowls?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I”m not ‘brooding.’”

“Moping, then” Varric said. “You seem like you’re a champion at it.”

“I’m perfectly content at the moment.”

“Oh, so that’s you smiling? Glad you clarified that. I’d never have known.”

Fenris heard a giggle beside them and glanced up to find Merrill watching them. She smashed her hands over her mouth, her eyes sparkling with smothered laughter. Fenris huffed and waved them both off, making Varric laugh as well. What nosy, strange people they all were.

The evening passed quickly, cut short when Hawke insisted on turning in early for his meeting with Bartrand in the morning. It took at least another half an hour and another round of drinks to stop Isabella’s protesting. Varric distracted her by plucking a deck of cards from his pocket. Velanna fled for the door almost as soon as Hawke mentioned calling it a night, though Merrill seemed curious about the card game, and waved to them from the table as Fenris, Aveline, and the Hawke brothers slowly made their way to the door. A burst of fresh air hit Fenris’s face as he stepped into the night, the door muffling the music from inside as it closed behind him.

He was about to bid them goodnight when a shout came across the square, a woman’s voice, though he missed the words. The four of them turned to find what looked to be a Chantry sister in the unmistakable black and red robes, though she didn’t seem distressed. They exchanged glances before slowly walking closer.

“I have need of assistance!” they heard her say, spreading her hands as she did. “There is handsome money for those of skill.”

“‘Ere, miss!” someone called, a rough-looking thug emerging from an alleyway. “You’re looking for help? And paying well?”

She smiled, turning to him and clasping her hands. “I need someone native to the dark places beneath Lowtown. If you claim as much, yes, I will pay.”

“I am, I am,” the thug said, flashing a grin that was missing a few teeth. “Let’s just… step into this alley and me and my fellows can ‘ave a look at the money on offer.”

As he led the sister away, Aveline turned her head sharply toward Hawke. “Can she expect to survive Lowtown inviting that kind of attention?”

“She has chosen poorly,” Fenris said, shaking his head.

“That woman is mad,” Carver agreed. “She’ll be robbed if she’s lucky.”

“Can you save someone so intent on being foolish?” Hawke sighed, reaching for his staff anyway. The four quickly burst into the alley, just as a whole gang of thugs emerged from the shadows. The sister shrank back as the thugs immediately attacked.

Fenris threw his arms back, shouting as the brands in his skin lit up from his hands and feet, racing up his legs and his arms and across his chest, the light shining brilliantly through his leathers and his armor. A few of the thugs racing toward him shrank back at the sight, and he took advantage of their surprise to slash his sword through the air, making them stumble back. He hacked through two of them quickly, both too stunned to react in time, and when a third charged for his side, he shoved his fist forward, phasing it straight through the man’s stomach. He made a choked gurgle before Fenris yanked his fist free, letting the man slump to the ground. Another man fell over him as Aveline charged him with her shield drawn, knocking him off of his feet before driving her sword through him. Hawke and Carver corralled the rest, and Hawke gave a final blast of fire.

“Well thank you for your timely intervention,” the sister said, approaching almost before the last had fallen. “I am… out of my element.”

Hawke glanced back as he settled his staff onto his back once more. “A foolish risk in Lowtown.”

The sister frowned. “I had come here to get the type of person I need: someone of bloody skill, but also integrity.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. She sought integrity among the thugs of the Lowtown alleyways? Exactly how naive was this woman?

“Perhaps the kind that might leap to someone’s defense? I have a charge who needs passage from the city,” she looked poignantly at Hawke now, and Fenris saw Carver roll his eyes. The elf was inclined to agree.

The sister fished a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Hawke. Fenris peered over his shoulder to find it contained a hastily drawn map.

“If you are willing and capable, meet me at my safehouse nearby.”

Hawke looked up. “I just saved you in an alley and suddenly we’re in business?”

“You’re in Lowtown,” the sister said. “What grand scheme could I be interrupting?”

Without waiting for an answer, she called suddenly to the shadows. A templar emerged from the lip of the alley, frowning directly at Hawke. Fenris saw Hawke’s shoulders tense, and Fenris found his own hand tightening on his sword before he even realized it.

“Not so helpless, I see,” Hawke murmured.

The sister turned. “I hope you will come. This matter only grows more urgent with time.” And with that, she and her guard disappeared down the street.

“What was that all about?” Carver said, shaking his head.

“This is very, very fishy, Hawke. Why would she just assume you’d help her? She was ready to beg your help the very second the battle was done,” said Aveline.

Hawke frowned. “This map… it leads right across from Gamlen’s house.”

“What? Let me see,” Carver snatched the paper up, holding it toward a torch hanging on the wall. “I’ll be Maker-damned.”

“I don’t like this,” Fenris said.

“I’m not sure I have a choice, now,” Hawke said. “She had a templar who obviously saw me using magic.”

“Then I’m coming with you. Surely she wouldn’t try anything with a guard staring her in the face,” Aveline said.

“Another fool’s errand, but I would not have you go alone,” said Fenris, which seemed to surprise Hawke. He nodded his thanks to the elf with a small smile.

“I’m finally free of mother’s cage, I’m certainly not going to miss an adventure,” Carver said,

 

* * *

 

The sister and her templar waited for them in a hovel that looked almost exactly like Gamlen’s on the inside, or from what Fenris remembered of the few times he’d stood in the doorway, waiting for Hawke. Rough, stained wood and a faint, slightly rotten smell in the air, with only a few scattered candles for light. The sister nodded as they entered, telling Aveline to shut the door firmly.

“I thank you for coming,” she said. “This matter is delicate, and I need someone of… limited notoriety who will not link this to me. It is an escort, but I think you will agree, the nature of the party makes this… unique.”

Hawke frowned. “If this is criminal, I already have enough trouble.”

“I should think you’re about to have more,” the sister shrugged. “I am Sister Petrice.”

She waved to the templar, who opened a door behind her and stepped inside, reappearing moments later with a great, hulking Qunari, his face obscured by a dented gold mask and a massive leather collar with heavy golden chains attached that hung over his chest. At his wrists he had heavy-looking golden manacles, though the chains that no doubt once kept his hands bound were nowhere in sight. Fenris recognized the configuration of binds immediately, and stared at him in open surprise.

“This is my burden of charity,” said Petrice, gesturing to the Qunari.

“A Saarebas? Here?” Fenris said.

“Shit… I-I mean, Maker,” Carver stuttered.

“Would even a templar bind a mage like this?” Petrice said. “A survivor of infighting with their Tal-Vashoth outcasts. I call him ‘Ketojan,’ a bridge between worlds.”

She stepped toward him, looking up at the broken mask on his face. “The viscount, and others, feel that peace begins with appeasement. This mage would likely be returned to his brutal kin. He can serve a better purpose. I want him free. He must be guided from the city without alerting his people or being seen in my care.”

The more she spoke, the more rehearsed the speech began to sound, and the clearly it became that this sister understood little of what she asked. She wants him free? He was struck once again by how differently those outside Tevinter thought of slavery, seeing it as so revolting it must only be a fairy tale, and surely those that are enslaved think only of freedom. He wondered how to make them understand that freedom was only a simple notion to the free, that a slave’s only constant is his enslavement, and what good is it to think of anything else? This was likely the life of this creature, and oh, how terribly ignorant was his would-be savior.

The sister was explaining how she found him, though Fenris hardly listened as he watched the Qunari until she said, “I am certain no thinking creature would willingly submit to this. If he was not running before, he has seized the opportunity now.”

Fenris nearly spoke up, wondering exactly how much of the running was this creature’s own doing when she admitted to finding him. He begrudged no slave his freedom, and her intent seemed admirable, if so desperately lacking understanding, but the fact that “Ketojan” stood silently, without speaking for himself, set off a warning in Fenris’s mind.

Hawke spoke before Fenris could. “It just seems like releasing a bird, cage and all.”

“We do what we can to step toward what is right,” Petrice replied. “That must be enough.”

Hawke turned then to the Qunari, eyeing him for a moment. “Ketojan, is it? You… need to be led out of the city?”

The Qunari made only a muffled growling sound in answer. Hawke furrowed his brow, and Fenris shook his head.

“The eyes of a slave,” the elf said at last, voicing his thoughts. “Does he want freedom or a master?”

“It has been difficult to get information,” the sister said carefully. “But look at him. Would you want this? You must have that in common.”

Hawke folded his arms. “You must realize how suspicious this seems. You haven’t even asked about who you’re hiring here.”

Petrice looked disinterested. “If you were important enough to know, I would need someone else. But if you insist: what is your family name?”

“My name is Hawke.”

“Strong. Very Ferelden,” the sister shifted on her feet. “The Qunari have hardly pressured the southern nations. You have not seen as many converts, or those who refused. If this action-- if any action -- can lessen their influence, it must be done.”

Fenris looked up at her. What wisdom could there inciting a war with a dangerous people already encamped within the city? Fenris was surprised to find that Hawke was, once again, in a similar mindset.

“I’ve had dealings with the Qunari leader. He’d want to know of this.”

“You… have dealt with their leader?” Petrice said. “If you have interacted with the Qunari, then you know how they treat those who leave their heathen order. The Arishok would doom this poor creature. But knowing them is useful. If they challenged you, attacking an ally would only confirm their barbarism.”

Fenris shook his head, and leaned toward Aveline, who stood at his side. He whispered, “She foolishly seeks to stir the viper’s nest. I cannot discern whether she is truly so naive, or if something more sinister is afoot.”

Aveline nodded, whispering back, “I don’t trust her. She’s up to something, and we’re walking right into the middle of it. But now that we’re involved, it seems like going to get my guards or warning the Qunari may only aggravate the incident. On the other hand, being party to this…”

Hawke turned, seeming to have overheard them. He said in a low voice, “I’m sorry for involving you, Aveline, but on the chance that he does truly desire freedom, I would not turn him aside. I don’t wish to anger the Qunari, but if we don’t do this… she knows I’m a mage, for one thing, but for another, she may find someone more unsavory to do this, and I don’t like Ketojan’s chances on that score.”

Aveline sighed and nodded. Fenris found himself once again surprised by Hawke’s concern, and watched the man pensively. Hawke turned back to the sister. “I can get him out of Kirkwall. He’s a bit conspicuous for the streets, though.”

“That is obviously not an option. You must avoid incident with the guards--” she looked straight at Aveline, who frowned as Petrice continued, “I cannot be linked to this. This mage will be a fine example of how cruel Qunari are, even to their own. But only if this plays out just so. The passage here leads to the warrens of the Undercity. It is dangerous, but that is why you were hired. Good luck.”

 

* * *

 

“The longer she talked,” Fenris said as they picked their way through the dirt-strewn mining tunnels beneath the house, “the more certain I was that this is no errand of charity. He seems far more her symbol than her charge, and that is only a different form of slavery.”

“I don’t think any course of action would bring peaceful results in this situation,” Hawke sighed, ducking beneath a low beam. “No matter what we do, someone loses.”

“We should have just gone home,” Carver groaned, from ahead of them before stopping suddenly.

“What?” Hawke said, but Carver hissed for silence, holding up his hand.

There was a telltale scuttling sound from further up the tunnel. Aveline, Carver, and Fenris all immediately drew their swords, drowning out the sound of Hawke’s groaning.

“Why is it always spiders?”

The tunnels, it turned out, were filled with the wretched creatures, crawling out from gnawed holes in the walls and from deeper tunnels below, skittering over stairways and platforms. They hacked through wave after wave of them, scattering their limbs and eyes across the tunnel floors as they slowly made their way through the passages. Ketojan was the only one of them who made no move, watching them silently as they cut down the creatures, moving only when the path was clear. He remained stubbornly statuesque until they ran into a small pocket of raiders in a wider room of the tunnels. The leader approached Hawke, calling a few of the usual cocky taunts from the shadows as his fellows waved their daggers. Before Hawke could even reply, Ketojan let out a low but unsettling growl.

A few of the raiders shrank back, but the leader ignored him, jabbing the dagger toward Hawke’s chin as he continued to threaten him. Ketojan hunched down suddenly. A powerful blast of force magic erupted from him, sending the entire group of raider flying backward. The Qunari rose slowly, grumbling and growling again, and stood still once more.

“By the Void!” one of the thugs screamed. “Kill it! Kill them all!”

The battle was a blur of fire and light. Ketojan unleashed his magic with fervor, and Hawke raced to keep up, pelting the raiders with bursts of flame. Fenris, Carver, and Aveline worked to pick off stragglers that bolted from the magic, trying to flee back into the tunnels. But even once the last of the thugs fell, Ketojan remained wreathed in terrible flames.

Hawke waved his arms. “Qunari! Ketojan! The danger has passed! _Ketojan_! Calm yourself!”

Finally, with another low growl, Ketojan let the flames dissolve and fade, and he straightened, looking at Hawke through his mask.

“You did what I said,” Hawke blinked, staring back at him. “Did I hit the right phrase or something?”

“He may not know himself,” Fenris said, as Ketojan gave an answering murmur.

“Did you react because your lead was threatened?” Hawke asked, tilting his head at the Qunari, who only growled again.

“I know that kind of blind instinct,” Fenris supplied, pursing his lips. “It is hard to judge how much control he has.”

Hawke sighed, looking away and mumbling more to himself than the Qunari, “You can’t gesture or stomp your feet twice for yes, or something?”

Another growl was his only answer. Fenris set about strapping his sword to his back once more as he remarked, “The sister has assumed a great deal from a few grunts and twitches.”

By the time they finally emerged from the tunnels, the first streaks of dawn were already lighting the sky. They found themselves exiting through a secluded opening near the Wounded Coast. The sound of waves crashing in against the cliffs filled their ears, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out Hawke’s murmur of “Oh, of course” as he looked down across the dunes to find a whole camp of Qunari warriors waiting for them.

Fenris frowned. A setup. Certainly, a setup. It was no surprise, but still lower than he had wished to believe of the sister. They trudged down the small mountain of sand the tunnel led them to, and the Qunari immediately gathered in front of them. Ketojan made no sound.

“You will hold, basra vashedan,” said the Qunari at the head, his face obscured by a strange metal helmet with bars across its front. “I am Arvaarad, and I claim possession of Saarebas at your heel. The members of his karataam were killed by Tal-Vashoth, but their disposal leads only here, to Saarebas and you.”

“I just got here coming from the other way,” Hawke said, gesturing toward the tunnel mouth, “If there was a trail, I didn’t leave it.”

“Yet you are here with Saarebas.The crime is his freedom, his leash held by unknowing basra. We will not allow that danger to continue. Let your own mages doom you -- Saarebas will be properly confined.”

“And if he doesn’t want to go back?” Hawke said.

Arvaarad took a step forward. “Saarebas! Show that your will remains bound to the Qun.”

Ketojan murmured and immediately bent his knee. His head bowed low.

Fenris flinched as he watched, shifting back a step. With the sound of the sea in his ears, and the feel of the sand beneath his feet, a memory came to him suddenly and strongly, a memory of an island far from this one, where he stood where Saarebas knelt, staring into the triumphant eyes of his own master.

_Fenris, my little wolf. Kill them. Kill them all._

The memory jarred him so much that he stepped back again, squeezing his eyes shut against it. Hawke was speaking, asking something about their names, Saarebas, Arvaarad. He asked why they caged him, why they abused him, but Fenris did not listen. He stared instead out toward the edge of the cliff to catch his breath. The parallel was unmistakable, and it took Fenris by surprise, unfolding before him with stunning clarity. He could see himself standing among the Fog Warriors, bending his head and worrying his lip as Danarius and all his guard stood across from them, demanding they hand him over. He remembered closing his eyes, and wondering in that moment why he ever dreamed of freedom, letting the familiarity of slavery wash over him, and being stunned to find that it was not comforting, but suddenly, unbearable.

_We will not give him to you._

“I’m not giving him to you. He’ll choose his own path.”

Fenris looked up sharply, but this was not Seheron, and standing before him was simply Hawke, frowning defiantly as he reached for his staff. And for a moment, everything was still. Fenris had spent so long suspicious and afraid, doubting these dangerous companions he found himself crowded in with, doubting this strange and powerful mage who seemed so compassionate. Now a thought, a very dangerous, very hopeful thought flitted across his mind. The Fog Warriors helped him without ill will, without ulterior motive, and died still wishing his freedom. What if this, this life, Hawke and all these companions, what if…

What if this was his second chance? A chance to make up for the blood on his hands? And another chance to be really, truly free?

A very, very dangerous thought.

He started when a pulse from a large, gold rod in Arvaarad’s hand surrounding Saarebas in a binding blue light, immobilizing him. Arvaarad cried, “You will all be brought to the Qun!”

Fenris launched himself into the fight. He fought harder and more fiercely than he could remember fighting in a very long time. His entire body pulsed and glowed with the light of lyrium, and he used its power to flit across the battlefield at blinding speed, swinging and slashing his sword faster than the Qunari could keep up with. He was not aware of his companions, only of the need to cut them down, to fight as he did not fight before. To fight as he could not fight then, to fight as he was finally free to fight now.

When the battle ended, he hunched over, leaning on his sword and panting as the light of his markings receded. He felt a hand on his arm, and jumped violently, only to turn and see that it was Aveline. She took several steps back, holding up her hands, and he looked away, murmuring an apology.

“Are you all right?” she said, looking at him with concern. “That was-- I mean, you were--”

He nodded slowly. Instinctively he avoided her eyes, but after a moment, he forced himself to look up at her. “I am… fine. ...Thank you.”

Across from them, Hawke was bending over to look at Saarebas. “Can you stand?”

The Qunari growled and gestured at the control rod. Hawke reached for it, and with another burst of energy, the light binding Saarebas disappeared. Slowly, the Qunari pushed himself to his feet and lifted his head to look up at the sky.

“I am...unbound,” he said hoarsely. “Odd… wrong… but you deserve honor.”

_I am unbound._ Fenris watched him, knowing his feelings well. He looked then to Hawke as if looking at him for the first time. He would… need to think. A lot.

“You are now Basvaarad, worthy of following. I thank your intent, even if it was wrong,” Saarebas said. “I know the will of Arvaarad and I must return as demanded. It is the wisdom… of the Qun.”

Saarebas turned toward the cliff, walking slowly toward it. Hawke walked with him, and the others strolled behind.

“So after all of this, now you want to die?” Hawke said, shocked.

“I do not want to die,” Saarebas replied. “I want to live by the Qun.”

“Which means dying.”

“Yes. Is that hard to grasp?”

Hawke sighed, looking down in thought for a moment. “Arvaarad couldn’t defeat me. Perhaps he was wrong about your death, too.”

“Losing to you does not make him wrong. He spoke the Qun. I have chosen. It is  bred in the bone,” said Saarebas.

“Existing is not a choice,” Hawke said.

“It is the only choice. Asit tal-eb. It is to be.”

Hawke frowned. “Could you have returned if I’d let these others live?”

“No.”

“So you were doomed from the start?” Hawke cried.

“I was outside my karataam. I may be corrupted. I cannot know. How I return is my choice. It must be, but that does not mean there is no meaning,” said Saarebas.

Hawke shook his head slowly. “Your choice, then.”

Saarebas turned to look at him, his face unreadable behind his mask. “You know of certainty and borders. You are closer to the Qun than you admit. Your role would change little if you accepted the Qun. Remember this day, Basvaarad.”

Slowly, the Qunari turned and walked further out onto the cliff face. He stared up at the sky a moment longer, the light of the dawn growing stronger now. Then, a pillar of fire burst into being around him, the flames swirling furiously around his body. Hawke stumbled back a few steps, watching as the fire consumed him. Saarebas sank to his knees and then collapsed, the fire burning furiously over his body, consuming his robes and his flesh before at last it winked out. Smoke rose from a pile of bones and chains, all that remained of him. It billowed out into the breeze.

For a long moment, the four stood in silence, watching the smoke. Aveline sighed and shook her head, a deep frown over her lips. Fenris could not draw his eyes away, his thoughts too scattered to follow here. At last, Hawke finally turned away, running a hand through his hair. “Well. She may not have known about this, but Petrice clearly set a trail right to us.”

Fenris shook himself from his reverie, looking up at Hawke. “If she set them on us, I would know why.”

“Back to the city, then. We might catch them in time,” Hawke led them back toward the tunnel.

 


	11. The Deep Roads Expedition, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, the group is ready to venture into the Deep Roads, but the journey is not going to be easy and road blocks abound. Meanwhile Velanna seems especially twitchy, but may finally be ready to give some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I poured all of my feelings about Carver into this chapter, especially over the things the game never addressed, so expect pain ahead. I also did some playing and tweaking with in-game events. I apologize, once again, that this chapter was so long coming. My mental health and my work schedule joined forces against me, but this chapter is extra long so I hope that makes up for it a little. My continuing thanks to serenity-fails not only for beta-ing for me but also for talking out all the story snags with me and just being a constant encouragement. The credit for calling him "Garrett Pisspants Hawke" goes entirely to her, I might add.

The morning after a night of crawling through the Undercity and battling a slew of giant, angry Qunari was not the time to have a tearful heart-to-heart with his mother. Carver never knew he could regret a yawn so much as this moment, with her teary eyes boring into him.

“You’re not taking this seriously at all!” Leandra said, throw up her hands. “Am I the only one that realizes how dangerous this is? Am I the only one that cares that we’ve already lost--”

“Mother, please,” Garrett said, reaching for her flailing hands. “You knew we were working toward this for months.”  

“But I thought certainly you would find other work in the meantime!” said Leandra, firelight glinting on her wet cheeks. At their knees, Bailey whined and nudged her thigh.

Garrett glanced across the table at Carver. The sun was high overhead by now, and the brothers had long since tracked down the Sister to fruitlessly demand an explanation, and then they trekked all the way across the Maker-forsaken city to meet with Bartrand and Varric, and then they trudged all the way back down every single damn stair separating Hightown from Lowtown to tell Mother the good news of the Expedition. Which she had taken marvelously. Why Garrett insisted they tell her now, instead of after at least two days’ sleep, was something Carver would be certain to demand an explanation for when he could keep his eyes open properly again.

“It’s only a couple of weeks, Mother,” Carver said once Garrett passed Leandra a handkerchief. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Leandra clutched the cloth against her and pursed her lips tightly.

Carver sighed again. “Mother…”

“You know there is nothing else,” said Garrett, “especially not for an apostate, let alone refugees.”

“You can hide that--”

“ _Mother_ ,” Garrett said, giving her a tired look, and her shoulders sagged.

“Carver sought out the city guard!” Leandra tried.

“And Aveline refused me, you remember,” Carver grumbled. “Nothing will come of it.”

Leandra’s fingers twitched around the handkerchief. “After all we did for her. Well, surely we could live off of the money you collected. That would get us by until the Viscount agrees to return the estate, and--”

“And then what?” said Garrett. “That would not pay a quarter-year’s taxes, not to mention the upkeep, food, furniture…”

“But we would have the estate. We would have our name back, our title. You could surely find suitable work then.”

“Mother, it is foolish to place all our coin on the hope that jobs will materialize just when we need them. The city is overcrowded with people as it is, and what suitable work there might have been has long since been snatched up,” Garrett said, squeezing her arm. “You know it to be true.”  

“We are farmer’s sons without a farm, and unless you plan to grow crops in the estate’s garden, we’re out of options,” Carver added.

“Have you even asked at any of the farms outside the city?” said Leandra. “Or what of--”

“Mother, please, you know that we have. Every place we could think of, over and over again. This is our last chance to get something to live off of, at least for a time,” said Garrett.

Carver pressed his fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes to avoid his mother’s. Still, he heard the shaky breath she drew, muffled suddenly by her handkerchief. He heard the gentle rustle of her dress as Garrett’s rubbed her arm, and with each pass of it Carver’s heart grew heavier. He couldn’t help but think of their first night in Kirkwall, sitting around the table like this. Gamlen hovered near them then, frowning at Leandra’s tears as she wept for Lothering, for Bethany. He wished she understood they planned this Expedition so that she might never have to sit there weeping in this hovel again.

“Mother,” Garrett finally said, his voice soft, “We must go. It is a risk either to stay or to go, but we’ll return with greater reward if we go. You must have faith in us. We’ll have a Grey Warden with us, and many other skilled people, and dwarves who know the way. And by the time we return, you will have the estate again, and we’ll have a home to be welcomed to, and a way to keep it. Please, Mother.”

Carver looked up to find fresh tears in her eyes as she stared down at the table. Bailey whined softly again as Carver and Garrett watched her. After a long moment, she looked up at both of them, frowning, and her chair screeched backward. She all but leapt to her feet, Garrett’s hand falling away as both boys stared up at her in surprise.

“I am through speaking of this. I have dinner to make before your uncle gets home from the Docks,” she announced. She clutched the handkerchief to her face as she fled to kitchen, Bailey trotting behind her.

Garrett sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was a strange, hollow feeling settling in Carver’s stomach, the same feeling that came the moment he stepped across the threshold of Gamlen’s home.

“I wonder how different it would be if Father were here,” said Garrett, staring at his hands were they lay on the table.

It took a moment for Carver to murmur “Or Bethany,” and he regretted it instantly. That hollow feeling seemed to open wide inside of him at the thought of her, and he felt a familiar ache pinch his chest. That pain seemed to come whenever his thoughts strayed to her, but even after a year, he found no words to ease it, to even describe it, and it simply festered and stung the longer he tried.

For a long time, Carver refused to let himself think of his twin. Just the sound of her name brought him back to the middle of a burning forest, her blood spattered across his tunic. He saw only the unnatural way her body twisted and the way she stared, wide-eyed and blank, at the sky, and felt sick with the sight of it all over again. And he heard his mother sobbing, blindly throwing dagger-sharp words at her sons in her grief. He dreamt of it all, over and over and over again, for months after they arrived in Kirkwall. The memories were far too much to bear. So at last, he banished all thoughts of her. The empty space she left behind her, the empty space at his side where she should be, never left him, but he tried with everything he had to ignore it.

He never mourned her until one sleepless night came, only a few months ago now, when he realized he could not remember what her laugh sounded like. The thought gutted him, and he bolted upright in his bed, nearly choking at the sudden force of grief. And at last he wept for her. He doubled over onto his quilt, crushing it against his face to muffle the sobbing so Garrett would not wake in the bunk above him. For Carver spent the whole of his childhood trying to make Bethany laugh, simply because nothing made him feel prouder. He liked feeling special to her that way. After all, Garrett always seemed to be everybody’s favorite--he was the one with the charm and the talent and the inflated sense of his own sodding nobility, and everyone loved him for it. Carver always came stumbling after him, the awkward brother with the knobby knees and the loud mouth and the temper. Nobody found him charming. Nobody gave him much more than a glance, really. Nobody except Bethany.

He even made up some stupid jig just for her, just to cheer her up. He did it first when she fell and scraped her knee in the woods, and she plopped straight down and blubbered. He would have done anything just to get her to stop making that noise, so he did the first and silliest thing that came to mind. At first she was too stunned to keep crying, and then she laughed. So he did it again when she took fever and couldn’t leave her bed for days. Before long, it was something that was just theirs, some little secret thing between them each time she felt sad. Now just the thought of it made him ache.

Carver did wonder how different things might have been, had she survived. He tried to picture Bethany at the table with them. Maybe she would sit in the empty chair at Carver’s side as Garrett still sat staring at his hands. But the hazy face only flickered in Carver’s memory, and something pulled far too tight in his chest.

“She wouldn’t let us out the door if we didn’t promise to take her,” Garrett said suddenly, and it took Carver a moment to realize he meant the Expedition.

Carver forced out a laugh, though it sounded weak. “Like when we tried to sneak into the orchard?”

The corner of Garrett’s mouth twitched toward a smile. “And then she blamed it all on us when Mother found us, covered head to toe in mud.”

“Those apples were worth it, though,” Carver said, his laugh a little less empty.

He traced his finger along the wood grain of the table as they fell silent again. Garrett clasped his hands together, his fingers twitching a little, and Carver glanced up at him to find him staring at them again, biting at his lip.

After a moment, Garrett cleared his throat and said, “Carver, you know… maybe… maybe you ought to--”

“If you tell me to stay here so you can go off and play the hero without me, you can forget it,” Carver said.

Garrett frowned. “This isn’t about heroics, it’s about Mother and even I--”

“I said you can forget it. You’re not doing this alone,” Carver snapped. glaring across the table. Garrett opened his mouth, then paused, studying Carver for a moment. Carver stared back, chin raised. If Garrett was going on some fool mission, he could be damn sure Carver wasn’t going to let him die a hero, his shadow was big enough to crawl out from. And Carver was not certain he could bear losing another part of his family.

After a moment, Garrett offered Carver his hand, palm open on the table. Furrowing his brow, Carver finally took it, and they shook once.

“Together, then,” Garrett said.

“As if there were any question,” said Carver. Then a smile ghosted across his face. “Besides, you just want all the glory to impress your elf.”

Garrett scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He’s not my elf, Carver. He was a slave, for pity’s sake, have some tact.”

“Fine. But you _do_ like him.”

“How’s Merrill doing?” Garrett shot back. “Or have you stopped stuttering long enough to say hello yet?”

“Oh, you’ve just reminded me,” said Carver, a devious smile curling his lips, “I ought to tell Fenris about that time you got so embarrassed talking to a boy you liked that you wet your breeches.”

“You promised never to speak of that!” Garrett roared, diving across the table at him.

“Garrett Pisspants Hawke!” Carver barked a laugh as he slid out of his chair just in time, scurrying around the table as Garrett flew after him.

 

* * *

 

The days passed more quickly than Carver expected, and before he knew it, he was stumbling out into the early morning with a full pack and a full belly. Though she scarcely spoke to them over the course of the week, Leandra refused to send them off without a thorough and impressive feast. And the previous night was spent saying a very thorough farewell to the Hanged Man with their friends, until a veritable sea of empty flagons covered their table (and a sea of spilled ale covered the floor). So by the time they arrived in the Hightown square where Bartrand waited, Carver felt more ready for long nap than a daring expedition, and he yawned loudly.

“Oh come on, Carver,” Garrett said, “You might as well enjoy the sunrise while you can. It’ll be weeks before you see another one.”

The morning was busier than Carver expected. Servants bustled toward the market stalls, guards trudged to their posts, and a few merchants stopped to chat in the shade of the dwarven monoliths overlooking the square. They spotted Velanna and Merrill at the far wall, their packs resting at their feet. Bartrand and Varric talked nearby, with a few other men and dwarves hovering near that Carver guessed to be hired hands.

“Ooh, isn’t this exciting? I’ve never been in the Deep Roads before,” Merrill chattered as the brothers reached them, shifting from one bare foot to the other. “Though I’ve heard stories, of course. All the great lost durgenlen cities…”

“Dur… what?” Carver said as he set his pack down.

“Dwarf,” Velanna said flatly, without looking at them.

“Right, sorry,” said Merrill. “Do you really think we’ll find treasure? Varric seems to think that we’ll find a whole dragon’s ransom, whatever that means.”

“We are far more likely to find trouble,” Velanna murmured.

“Well, we’ll be right at home, then,” laughed Garrett as he winked at Merrill.

Carver chuckled as she chattered on. At least one of them was excited. And her cheeks seemed to get a little endearing sort of blush to them when she did get excited like that, and…

Carver looked away quickly, clearing his throat a little.

Fenris joined them a few minutes later, his pack far smaller than anyone else’s. He greeted them with a simple nod. Aveline followed. Though her duties prevented her from joining them, she promised to see them off. Isabela appeared last of all, swaggering into the square looking far fresher than anyone who drank as much as she had the night before had any right to.

“Good morning!” she called cheerfully. She rolled her eyes when she received only a few grumbled replies from all except Merrill.

“Good, you’re all here.”

Varric appeared at Hawke’s side, frowning a little. “Listen, as it turns out… I could only manage to talk Bartrand into so much, and supplies are fewer than I expected. We’re not going to have enough to take everyone with us.”

“Carver volunteers to stay behind.”

Everyone looked up. Leandra stood a little behind Aveline and Isabela, pursing her lips even as she tried to look determined. Carver sighed, exchanging a glance with Garrett. They passed through the line of their friends and took Leandra to the side.

“Mother, we talked about how important this is,” Carver said once they moved out of earshot. “We’re just about to leave--”

Leandra shook her head. “I couldn’t… I… Why must both of you go? Varric just said you can’t take everyone, and anyone else here--”

Garrett looked at Carver again as their mother spoke, and Carver could see hesitation in his eyes. Carver’s expression hardened, and he shook his head once.

Garrett turned back to Leandra. “Mother, I understand your fears, but we worked for this together, and we’re more than capable. Both of us.”

“I’m going,” Carver added firmly. “It’ll be fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Leandra snapped, drawing a few stares. Carver tensed back, but Garrett simply closed his eyes.

Leandra reached for Carver, and he felt her hands tremble where they clasped his arms, “You can’t go! What if something were to happen to you? I cannot bear it, not again!”

Still clinging to Carver, she looked over at Garrett. “You I understand wanting to do this. But leave your brother here, I beg you.”

Garrett opened his eyes, looking hurt. Even Carver felt surprised. He carefully shrugged out of her grasp, taking a few steps toward Garrett.

“I said I’m going,” he declared. “Besides, if we’re so bloody afraid of templars, I should go and he should hide!”

He caught Garrett’s eye. To anyone else, it sounded as petulant as Carver knew they thought he was. Yet the words held no bite, and as the brothers looked to each other, Carver felt certain Garrett saw that. Garrett gave the slightest, barest nod, still looking stung, but also grateful.

“Carver--” Leandra said, her voice wavering as her eyes filled with tears. “Carver, please. Don’t go. I’m begging you.”

Carver sighed, and moved away from Garrett to embrace her. “Don’t worry about me so. I can take care of myself, you’ll see.”

Leandra sniffed, pressing her face to Carver’s shoulder for a moment before slowly pulling away. She looked up at Carver, touching his face a moment. Then she looked over his shoulder to Garrett, her face hardening into a glare. Without another word, she turned on her heel and trudged back across the square. Garrett watched her go. Carver was about to speak when a voice from behind interrupted them.

“Personal drama over with?”

Bartrand raised an eyebrow, arms folded impatiently. “Good. We can afford one more of your people besides the two of you, but that’s all Varric’s silver tongue is getting you, you hear? These supplies weren’t cheap. So if you’re done crying, get yourselves together and let’s get moving.”

Carver glared, but Bartrand was already turning away to speak with his hired scout, another dwarf in a brown hood. Beside Carver, Garrett sighed, running a hand through his hair again.

Varric broke away from the others to join them. “Listen, Hawke, if I might make a suggestion? If I were in your shoes, I’d take Blondie. Angry glowing aside, a Grey Warden’ll be invaluable down there.”

“I get the feeling she won’t thank us for it,” Carver said. “But I agree with the dwarf.”

Garrett nodded slowly before moving toward his companions. “Everyone...I’m sorry. I had thought we’d be able to go in on this together, but--”

“Oh, leave it be, Hawke, you sound as if you’re about to cry,” Isabela said, lips twitching into a smirk. “Make your pick and buy the rest of us ruffians a drink when you come back fabulously wealthy.”

“I… would ask the Warden, if she is willing,” Hawke said, looking down at Velanna.

To his surprise, Carver swore he saw a look of relief cross her face. It was gone as quickly as it came, and she rose to her feet, slinging her pack onto her shoulders. “Then let us be on with it.”

“Right then, come back in one piece, you lot,” Isabela said, giving Garrett a light nudge on his arm. He smiled and winked.

A slap on the back startled Carver and he turned to find Aveline behind him. He tried not to glare at her as she said, “Be careful, all right? Leave foolhardy heroics off the to-do list.”

He bit back the bitter retort on the end of his tongue, still smarting as he was from rejection from the guard. Instead he gave her a strained smile and said, “Can’t let Garrett have all the fun.”

Then she was off toward his brother, and Carver’s eyes fell on Merrill just as Velanna was saying something quickly to her in the Elvish.

“But you’ll be fine, you mustn’t think like that,” Merrill said in the common tongue, squeezing Velanna’s hands.

“Just promise me,” Velanna insisted, her gaze intent.

Merrill nodded hesitantly, looking terribly confused. “Ma nuvenin, Velanna. Dareth shiral.”

“Ma serranas, Merrill,” Velanna said, letting go of her hands.

Merrill looked then to Carver and gave him a bright smile. “Oh, good luck to you! I’m sure you’ll have all sorts of adventures. Hawke always seems to find them.”

“That he does,” Carver said. “Or they find him. Anyway… I’m sure I’ll see you when I get back? I mean, around… I don’t mean… _see_ you, like that, exactly.”

“I… think I missed something,” Merrill said, smiling patiently.

“No, no, I… ugh,” Carver shook his head. “I’ll… see you soon.”

“Dareth shiral!” Merrill said.

Carver rubbed his forehead as she turned away. _Smooth, idiot, very smooth_. He turned to find Garrett and heard the rumble of Fenris’s voice behind him. He kept his back to them, glancing over his shoulder.

“Be cautious,” the elf was saying. “Especially in this… company. It would be unfortunate to hear something ill befell you down there.”

Carver didn’t need to see Garrett’s face to know he was smirking as he said, “Spare a bottle or two their untimely death against the wall for me, won’t you?”

Fenris chuckled. The sound was so foreign that Carver nearly turned all the way around and gaped.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Fenris said.

They made the last of their farewells and Bartrand corralled them together near the far corer of the square. As they pulled their packs on and secured the supplies, Bartrand paced in front of them and began making what Carver assumed to be his idea of a speech.

“All right. We’ve chosen one of the hidden entrances. The Deep Roads there will be nice and virginal, ready for a good deflowering.”

“Now there’s an interesting image,” Varric murmured from next to Carver. Velanna scoffed.

“It’ll take a week for us to get to the depth we need, and there are bound to be leftover darkspawn from the Blight. Big risks, big rewards.”

“Risks, rewards, what could be better?” Hawke said, nudging Carver.

“Exactly!” Bartrand said, grinning. “Now let’s get under way!”

He waved his hand. The group slowly began marching toward the city gate.

“Been a long time coming, eh brother?” Varric said, falling into step next to Bartrand

“That it has,” Bartrand said, smirking. “The Deep Roads await!”

 

* * *

 

The sun was high overhead by the time they even reached the entrance. Bartrand had not exaggerated when he called it hidden. He’d led them from the city and all along the shores of the Wounded Coast, circling the foot of Sundermount to reach the far side. His nose buried firmly in the Warden map, he sent them climbing along one of the mountain’s lower ledges. They spent a good half hour scaling a pile of sizeable boulders that must have tumbled from the mountain’s heights long before. Moss and brush covered many of them, and a few stubborn, scrubby trees grew between some of the larger rocks. Carver grunted under the weight of his pack as he climbed, heaving himself from one rock to the next. The other groaned and strained behind him, with one of the dwarves, an older-looking one with reddish hair and eyes that crinkled at the corners, lagged well behind the rest as he struggled to push himself over each rock. A younger blonde dwarf with bright eyes that completely unnerved Carver kept trying to pull the older one up, murmuring to him as he went.  

“There she is!” Bartrand called down from above them. Carver squinted up, but saw only the dwarf’s head bobbing out of view. He climbed toward the spot, dragging himself over the top of one last boulder. As he did, he saw the remains of a vast archway set into the mountainside. It seemed that it once held an impressive door that now lay crushed to rubble underneath several more heavy rocks. A small clearing lay between the rocks and the boulder Carver now sat on, and Bartrand stood there folding up the map. Carver had to admit, the entrance was ideal. The rocks concealed it completely from view, and it looked as if no one had attempted to remove the rubble from either side, making it likely that no darkspawn had ventured close to it recently.

Once everyone managed to crawl up to the clearing, they rested, collapsing to the rocky ground in front of the archway and digging out canteens. Bartrand walked ahead, surveying the entrance and looking up at the parts of the archway still intact.

“This is perfect,” he cried, grinning back at them, “Perfect! I’d bet my beard this hasn’t been used in centuries. Maybe even an Age or two. I doubt anyone even knew it was here.”

Velanna looked intently over the archway, then nodded. “I sense no darkspawn.”

“See? Perfect. Luck is on our side. Fletcher! Javi! Get us a way through, you lazy sods!”

Groaning, one of the hired humans and the dwarf scout pushed to their feet. Carver and Garrett went to help them. After some careful work, they managed to clear away enough of the rocks and rubble to crawl through.

“Well, say goodbye to the sun, then,” Varric said, glancing up at the sky. “It’s all rock and dust from here on.”

Carver sighed, following Varric’s gaze for a moment. Then he turned to follow the others through the broken doorway, ducking under one of the boulders. Behind him, he heard Varric call, “Coming, Blondie?”

Carver peaked back through the hole. Velanna stood at the edge of the rock, her face turned to the sun, one foot on a patch of moss in the shadow of the largest boulder. She took a long, deep breath, then turned toward the archway. She brushed quickly past Varric and then Carver without a word. Varric shrugged.

Inside, Garrett had found a torch among the pebbles strewn around the floor, and lit it with a small burst of flame from his fingers. Firelight filled the passage, though beyond the gravel littering the floor and the usual carven flourishes along the walls, there was little to see. The passage stretched forward without any turns or branches as far as the light reached, and Bartrand took both the torch and the lead as they marched off to follow it. The mass of boulders and rock outside hinted at some sort of violent disturbance, but the damage seemed limited to the entrance, beyond a few fallen chunks of the wall and ceiling. They walked for almost an hour before the passage dipped, and a massive set of stairs stretched out before them. Bartrand glanced back.

“Warden?” he called.

“There is no danger. I sense them only very distantly, they are far off yet,” she said.

“Right, right,” Bartrand nodded to himself. They began down the stairs, and Carver watched his feet for each missing chunk of rock and each crack. He wondered if it truly had been an Age since anyone else stepped foot where they now walked. None of the dust showed footprints, or any signs of disturbance that Carver could see. It took the whole long, long climb down the stairs to realize why. Just beyond the very foot of the staircase, a heavy litter of boulders blocked the way, leaving only a small window. Light greeted them from the other side, but no other sounds or signs of life.

“Sod it!” Bartrand yelled, kicking at a loose rock on the step. “You’re sodding joking! All that work for--”

“Wait,” said Garrett. Setting down his pack, he climbed carefully over a few to pull himself up to the window. The opening was just large enough for him to peer through.

“There’s a much bigger passage beyond,” he called down. “Massive, really. And empty.”

“The Deep Roads proper,” said Bartrand.

“I don’t see anyone around. Or anything,” Garrett said.

Dropping carefully back to the ground, he added, “Velanna and I might be able to blast the rocks back.”

The blonde dwarf with the creepy eyes suddenly perked up. “Enchantment?”

The older dwarf, which Carver guessed might be his father, patted his shoulders. “Not now, my boy.”

Carver looked back to Garrett. “Are you sure that’s wise? Anything might hear the noise.”

“Well, then we’ll know for sure if something’s there,” Varric shrugged.

Garrett looked around the rock pile quickly, then moved toward a smaller group of stones. He pulled one of them free and climbed back up to the opening. Glancing around again, he shifted his grip a few times before launching it through. They heard a resounding crack from the other side, echoing through the whole of the hall. Then the sound slowly faded, and the group stood silently straining to hear. Several tense minutes passed before Garrett looked back, shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he said aloud, stepping back down. “And while it’s well lit, I don’t see any torches.”

“Dwarven ingenuity, that,” Bartrand said. “Torches are short-lived and useless for a road system like that. It’s light stones. Lyrium.”

Garrett tapped the boulder wall, glancing at Velanna. “Well, shall we give it a try? Bit of force magic?”

“Be mindful of the walls,” she warned, cracking her knuckles.

“Stand back,” Garrett said to the others, and the group clambered a short distance back up the stairs.

Garrett and Velanna stoo a bit apart from each other, their hands spread before them. A light appeared above each of their palms, drifting to a stop in front of each of them. In a careful set of tight movements, they let the lights grow, then sent them flying forward, crashing against the rocks. The wall shook, pebbles and rock chips cascading to the floor as the rocks shifted. None pushed loose, however, and the wall held firm.

Carver saw Velanna grit her teeth, barely pausing before summoning another burst of magic. This one grew faster and bright before her, and Garrett scrambled to meet her force. Their second blast knocked several of the highest boulders free, and they careened into the hall beyond. Velanna sent another blast in quick succession, smashing against a lower part of the rock wall. One of the boulders above it came rolling backward as the others fell from beneath it, and it knocked against another before slamming to the ground and rolling straight toward Garrett. With a yelp, Garrett leapt to the side, flinging a magical shield around him just as the boulder rolled dangerously close. It settled at last against the base of the stairs, chipping into a little as it did.

Garrett slowly lifted his head. He blinked, dazed, at the elf mage, who was still holding at hand out as if to stop the boulder by will. Her lips tightened.

“I am sorry,” she said, straightening before looking away quickly. “You ought to cast faster.”

Garrett tilted his head at her, raising an eyebrow. Velanna quickly busied herself with her pack as Garrett shook his head and pulled himself back to his feet. Carver could no longer contain his laughter and snickered, drawing a glare from both of them.

“I did tell you that a few runs to the Coast might not hurt, brother,” Carver snorted.

“Very funny,” Garrett grumbled.

“Enough chatter, Bartrand growled, pushing his way back down the stairs. “Let’s get on with it.”

The passage remained blessedly empty in the wake of all the crashing and noise. The group climbed over the rocks and at last came to stand, panting and dust ridden, in the middle part of the Deep Roads. Carver craned his neck as he adjusted his pack. Massive, intricately carved columns vaulted up overhead, shouldering a sloping ceiling that stretched so high the light below just barely touched it. Even on the ground it cast strange shadows over the walls and the floor, an eerie parody of firelight moving at its own whim. It was unlike anything Carver had imagined in the weeks before they left as he tried to conjure some idea of sprawling roads beneath the earth.

“I think I miss the bath at home already,” Garrett said as he brushed the dust from his robes.

Carver saw Velanna, who had been squinting at the columns, look back at him a couple times before mumbling, “Are you hurt?”

Garrett glanced up and then shrugged. “A few scratches, but I think I’ll pull through.”

Velanna nodded tersely and looked away. “Good.”

Garrett and Carver exchanged a look over her head before Bartrand yelled for them to keep up.

They travelled hours into the Deep, following every bend and turn of the abandoned passageways. They ran into a few giant spiders as they went, and one small nest of what Bartrand called “deep stalkers,” horrible, lizard-like creatures that hissed at them from the dark. Still, they cut through them fairly quickly, and met no sign of darkspawn. The dwarven scout, Javi, stayed well ahead of them as they travelled, checking the passageways that branched off from the main Roads, stealing quickly through broken parts of the wall that led into caves. Even so, they kept mostly to the Deep Roads proper, relying heavily on the map that Bartrand kept open before him.

Carver noticed Velanna’s eyes lingering over each passage they ignored and each side branch they left untried. Her head moved from side to side constantly as they went, and she paused now and again when they passed an unusual carving on the wall or a broken column among the whole ones, before rushing to catch up to the group again. She was beginning to make him nervous.

“Are there darkspawn nearby?” Carver finally asked when she stopped in front of a broken section of the wall covered in spider webs. Velanna glanced back sharply.

“There is no need to ask me that every few minutes. If I sense danger, do you not think I would say so?” she said, folding her arms.

“Sorry, I just thought… “ Carver began, then trailed off shaking his head, moving to rejoin the others. Maybe it was some sort of Warden habit. He knew little of their connection to the darkspawn or how it worked, and wondered at what range she could sense the creatures. Perhaps she was simply making sure? Whatever she was doing was making him nervous. The very idea that those things might be anywhere nearby was making him nervous.

When she finally jogged to catch up with them again, Carver cleared his throat and fell into step beside her. Something had to take his mind off of them. “So… you must have some good tales about the Deep Roads, being a Warden?”

“ _Good_ tales?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Well I mean… it can’t all be doom and gloom, right?” he said, regretting it immediately her already grim expression soured.

“Oh, I could tell you tales,” she said, her gaze now fixed on him, “I could tell you tales of creatures made of flesh and shadow, of unholy things thriving in the dark, of nightmares and demons and the bodies they leave behind, of smells you will never be able to forget again, of sounds no ear should ever hear. Tell me, are these _good_ tales?”

Carver felt nauseous. Dimly he was aware of Garrett and Varric looking back at them, and he mumbled an apology and moved to join them.

“ _Shemlen_ ,” Velanna muttered under her breath.

They walked on for hours beyond Carver’s counting. It was well past time for the evening meal (if his rumbling stomach was any indication) when Bartrand suddenly held up a hand for them to stop. Javi came running down the passage from well ahead of them, skidding to a halt and gasping to catch his breath. Carver tensed, reaching for his sword.

“There’s been a collapse,” Javi panted, gesturing behind him. “The way forward is blocked.”

“WHAT?” Bartrand snapped, advancing on the dwarf. “Is there some way around?”

“Not that I’ve been able to find,” said Javi, scrambling backward, “The side passages are too dangerous.”

“Then we’ll get the sodding mages to--”

“No, it’s mostly collapsed down,” Javi said. “Into a chasm. And the rest… the stone is too big.”

Bartrand stopped suddenly. Javi’s eyes darted from him to the group behind him and back as Bartrand reached up to scratch his beard. Then he shook his head and, without warning, socked Javi in the jaw as hard as he could. Carver and the others jumped, startled.

“Useless!” Bartrand roared. “What am I paying you blighters for?”

The hired humans murmured to each other, shaking their heads. Garrett held up a hand. “Hey, there’s no need to--”

“Set camp!” Bartrand thundered, stalking off.  

So they set about making camp near the broken section of road, under the shadow of a monolithic boulder. Carver perched himself near the edge of the road, peaking over the side and into the chasm. A river of lava lay below, sending heat wafting up along the rock. Across the chasm he could just make out the rest of the passage through the ripples of heat. Bartrand barked orders to his hired hands, Fletcher and Marcus, and to Javi (who had a large bruise forming along his jaw), and the three went in search of anything that might serve as campfire kindling. The other two dwarves, whose names Carver had yet to learn, began sifting through the food supplies, laying out dried fruit and jerky and some cheese on small tin plates.

While they worked, Bartrand pored over the map, grumbling to himself. Varric tapped on Garrett’s elbow and said something quickly, nodding at Bartrand, and the two moved toward him.

“Problems, brother?” Varric said, sounding completely nonchalant.

“Sodding Deep Roads!” said Bartrand, throwing his arms up. “Who knows how long it might take to clear the path? What little there is of it!”

“Shall we not find a way around instead? Seems like the logical choice,” said Varric.

“You think I’m an idiot, Varric? The scout says the side passages are too dangerous!” Bartrand grumbled, beginning to pace back and forth.

Garrett smirked. “This is why you bring someone like me along.”

Bartrand stopped at that, and Varric added, “In the morning, we’ll take a look. If we come running back, screaming, you’ll know staying put as the right decision.”

“Fine, fine,” Bartrand said. “Find a way around. Just do it quickly.”

Bartrand marched off to yell a few more orders at his hands. The rest of them began fishing out bedrolls and canteens from their packs, spreading them out over the dusty stone. Velanna joined them last of all, after lingering near the broken section of the Roads, looking over it carefully from floor to ceiling. She set out her bedroll well away from the others.

Once Fletcher and Marcus returned with several pieces of an old, broken crate, Garrett set them alight, and everyone except for the elf Warden crowded close to it, hunching over their plates of scraps.

“I don’t understand how you dwarves stand this,” Fletcher said between, glancing suspiciously at the ceiling.

“Stand what?” Bartrand grumbled.

“All this rock over your ‘eads,” said Fletcher, waving a piece of cheese above him, “It could cave in on you at any minute, crush you into powder.”

Marcus tensed beside him, looking suddenly to the walls.

“Oh, knock it off you sodding bunch of yellow-bellied daisies,” Bartrand rolled his eyes. “What the hell’d I hire you for? You oughta be more afraid of my fist in your eyes than some sodding cave-in.”

Carver saw Javi rub absently at his jaw.

“Come now, Bartrand,” came Varric’s voice from across the fire. “It’s not as if you weren’t just as afraid of the surface at first as they are of the stone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Varric,” snapped Bartrand in a tone that gave every indication he did, in fact, know exactly what his brother meant. “That’s a bronto pack of lies.”

“Not the way Mother tells it. Are you calling our dear mother a liar?” Varric said sweetly. “She used to tell me the whole story of when--”

“You shut your sodding mouth, you nug-licker!” Bartrand roared, leaping to his feet. The brothers stared at each other a moment, Varric cooly smirking while Bartrand’s face reddened with rage. Carver expected him to snarl and dive for Varric’s throat, but instead Bartrand just snatched up his plate and growled something about “doing some real work, you sodding sons of--” and stomped away from the campfire.

Varric chuckled to himself. “Ah, almost makes me homesick. Now, where was I? Oh, right. So, according to Mother, when they first left Orzammar…”

While the dwarf began weaving his tale, Carver’s ears pricked at the sound of his own name behind him. He hadn’t even noticed Garrett move away, but he glanced back now to find him settling down next to Velanna, who was glaring down at her plate and breaking a wafer into tiny pieces.

“Carver’s foots spends more time in his mouth than his tongue does, honestly,” Garrett was saying. Carver scowled, ready to snap back, but Garrett’s words startled a laugh out of Velanna. It surprised Carver so much he forgot to defend himself. Velanna glanced up at him and he looked away quickly.

“Perhaps I am not… entirely unfamiliar with such a feeling,” she said gruffly, and Carver heard the cracking of the wafer resume.

Garrett chuckled. “We all have our moments. Nevertheless, I… do think he meant well.”

Carver heard some shifting, then Velanna said, “I was… harsh. I have much on my mind.”

“The Deep Roads hold no good memories for you, I gather,” Garrett said carefully.

“There is that,” said Velanna, “But also… Creators, I suppose I must tell you sooner or later.”

Carver risked a quick peek over his shoulder. Velanna had hunched her shoulders around her, and he saw Garrett turn his head, looking concerned. Carver turned back to his plate, picking at the dried fruit.

“I do not plan to return with you to the surface,” Velanna said.

“What?” Garrett stiffened, alarm in his voice.

Velanna sighed again. “You told me not long ago of your sister. You lost her to the darkspawn, yes?”

Carver tensed, and he heard Garrett slowly reply, “Yes… that’s right.”

Velanna shuffled behind him, and it sound as though she had risen to her feet and begun to pace. “I, too, lost my sister, my only family, to the darkspawn. But she found no quick death at their hands.”

By now, Varric had finished his tale of Bartrand’s surface adventures, and the others their meal. The dwarf slowly moved closer, sitting himself next to Carver and gesturing for quiet.

The tale Velanna told was one Carver felt quite certain would haunt his nightmares for weeks, as if she had not already done enough earlier. She carefully avoided giving too many details, but what she did say gave him a chill. Darkspawn that could talk? And reason? Seeing her sister with skin paled and covered in blotches of the Taint, defending the darkspawn? Though he tried not to, Carver found himself picturing Bethany, her face as black-veined as Wesley’s had been, her eyes dull and empty, and he felt sick enough to push his plate away.

“I joined the Wardens to find her, and this… may be my last chance,” she said, dropping heavily back onto her bedroll.

“I… don’t even know what to say. I can’t begin to imagine,” Garrett said after a moment. “But surely this is something you shouldn’t endeavor on your own. You told Carver how dangerous it is…”

“I will ask this of no one else. She is my sister, and I will seek her. It is likely a fool’s errand but I will not give up on her.”

“You’re no use to her dead, surely,” Garrett insisted. “If we don’t find signs of her now, we could get another party on the surface, start a search--”

“I have no coin for such a thing,” Velanna said. “And before you mention the coin we seek here, that is sorely needed for my work in the alienage and you must see that it gets there and nowhere else. I would trust you with that much.”

“So let us help you now, then, since you clearly do plan to return from this search--”

“There is no certainty of that,” she said. “I will not put anyone else in harm’s way--”

“Maker, you are stubborn!” Garrett sighed. “Is this… that thing Wardens have? I heard something about Wardens ending their service in the Deep Roads…”

“It is not my Calling,” Velanna snapped, and Carver glanced back to find her fists balling in her lap. She gritted her teeth a moment, then said, “Oh, by the Dread Wolf! This is not your business, human. I hardly know you, any of you, and I will not be held responsible for your misplaced nobility! I told you of my task in confidence, but it is mine, and it is not an open invitation. I do not need your charity.”

“But I didn’t mean--”

“Stop. It is done, and we will speak no more of it.”

Carver turned back, nudging Varric. “That may be the tetchiest woman in existence.”

Varric raised an eyebrow as Garrett sat down at Carver’s side. Carver looked up at him, but Garrett just shook his head.

 

* * *

 

Carver dreamed of shadows all night, He dreamt of snarling, twisted faces in the dark, of running from them through endless halls of stone until he felt cool fingers clawing at his arms and…

...shaking him awake. Garrett’s face however over him, confused and concerned.

“Maker’s breath, Carver, I’ve been calling to you for ten minutes. It’s time to get going.”

They ate a hasty breakfast, then gathered their weapons and water casks. They left their bedrolls and the bulk of their packs behind, and Carver hoped that was a wise decision. The others slowly awoke as the Hawke brothers and Varric and Velanna prepared to leave. Carver noticed the older dwarf, who had introduced himself as Bodahn the night before, circling the camp a few times, then venturing back out a small distance into the main passage. Then he returned, shaking his head and murmuring to himself as he walked straight to Garrett.

“I hate to add to your burdens, my friends, but I fear I must,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I fear my boy Sandal wandered off. He’s somewhere in those passages, right now! I beg you, keep an eye out for him. He just.. doesn’t understand danger like he should.”

“One man out there, alone? What are his chances?” Carver murmured, ignoring Garrett’s warning glare.

“My boy is sturdier than you think!” Bodahn said. “If he has one of his enchantments with him, he’ll survive! He’s burned down the house twice by accident.”

Carver and Varric looked at each other, Varric raising an eyebrow.

“I’m more worried about him getting lost,” Bodahn continued, shaking his head. “Oh, my poor boy!”

“When did you last see him?” Garrett asked.

“Not a half hour ago. I turned my back to hand out rations to you, and he was gone! He gets so easily distracted. Ah, I should have been harsher with my warnings!”

“We’ll be searching the side passages,” Garrett said. “We’ll bring him back if we can.”

“Poor Sandal, I can’t believe he’s done this,” Bodahn sighed, turning to head back toward the camp.

“Let’s move quickly then,” said Varric.

They ventured out into the narrow, dimly lit passage leading away from the collapse. It eventually led them into a different section of the Deep Roads, and the sight gave all of them pause. Here, what Velanna called “the corruption” covered certain section of the walls, glistening unnaturally in the light of strange, crude fires burning here and there against the columns. Carver shrunk back from the walls, sickened by the strange substance. He wondered if he might have slept at all, nevermind the nightmares, knowing this lay down the long passage next to them.

They followed this section of the Deep Roads until it veered sharply. They found part of the wall lay broken away around the corner, leading them into a cave passage. Suddenly, Velanna motioned sharply for them to stop and keep quiet. Carver felt his body go cold. He reached for his sword.

For one long moment, the four of them stood silent, crowded near the wall, listening. The sound of armor clinking and creaking echoed off the stone, some distance down the tunnel. Listening harder, Carver could hear a snarling, gurgling noise that chilled his blood.

“They are drawing closer,” Velanna hissed. “And they are many. Ready yourselves.”

Unbidden, Carver saw the battlefields of Ostagar flash before his eyes, fierce and foul memory. The first time he saw one of the wretched creatures up close, many of his brothers-in-arms already lay dead at his feet. Watching them approach through the trees like a black wave crashing toward the royal armies, a tide that might swallow them all, terrified him enough for a hundred sleepless nights. But seeing one up close, snarling its yellowed teeth in his face, was a horror he still could not find a name for. He knew little of them beyond the Chantry’s tales and rare, whispered rumors, but something about their hobbling walk and their twisted faces and their pallid, blackening flesh struck instant horror in many who had the misfortune to face them, and Carver was no different. He felt Garrett go stiff beside him, and he wondered if his brother thought now of Bethany, of that cursed path through the Wilds that carried them to her fate.

Velanna held up her hand again. Carver felt every muscle in his arms tense, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Their eyes met, and she signalled with a jerk of her fingers. Swallowing, Carver rushed around the corner, the others at his back. A whole group of the creatures was hobbling along a ledge above what might have been some mining project. Carver saw only flashes of wood and rope and metal, and spared no time to look longer before he swung his sword down on the nearest of the creatures, and then the next, and the next. He shouted as he moved, denting armor and slicing flesh as fast as he could. Bursts of magic and a rain of bolts flew around him, felling any he could not reach. And just as the last of them fell at his feet, more came scurrying up a rickety staircase nearby. Snarling, he threw himself at them. Garrett had been the one to kill the wretched ogre that took Bethany from them. This was Carver’s revenge, the revenge he did not know he craved until the moment his blade sank into them.

More and more creatures seemed to crawl out from every corner and alcove, lashing at the four of them relentlessly with their crude, corroded swords and bent shields. They growled and hissed, baring their rotted teeth as they fought, and Carver swung his blade as hard as he could at them, sparing no ounce of strength to cut them down. Their blood fountained out from beneath their blackened armor, but Carver drove on, heedless. They swung and blasted their way through wave after wave of the darkspawn, and just as Carver began to despair of finding an end to them, he found they had pushed through a few cavernous passages and reached the carven walls of the Deep Roads once more, passing through them and into another tunnel beyond lined with veins of lyrium. He sliced through the darkspawn waiting there, taking the head of the last and watching it fall.

It was victory. But as he straightened to clean the blood from his sword in the strange, blue light from the lyrium veins, his vision suddenly swam. The world around him became a haze of bright blue. He reached for his head, which felt suddenly heavy and strange.

“Wait, I see something up ahead!” Varric called.

Carver looked up, blinking several times. The world slowly came back into focus, though blurred at the edges and still much too bright. He stumbled after his companions, struggling to ignore the weight of his head.

He tried very hard not to think that something was terribly, terribly wrong.


	12. The Deep Roads Expedition, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and the others arrive in the strange Primeval Thaig, and find an ancient treasure, but also a traitor in their midst. Trapped in the Deep Roads, they're forced to continue into the bowels of the thaig, facing whatever terrible creatures may await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot apologize enough for how long this update took. I occasionally gave little status updates on my DA tumblr (redredribbon.tumblr.com if you'd like to follow), but suffice to say, I moved across the country this summer, and it took a major toll on my free time and my mental health. There was a lot of ground to cover in the rest of the Deep Roads part of the story, which also made it take awhile to complete. I decided once I finished the rough draft to bend my own rules about chapters shifting character perspective to make this into a two chapter update. So I hope that's a little bonus, and that it was worth the wait. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my lovely roommate serenity-fails for betaing and for talking out ideas with me and just generally being amazing support. She also passed on a few positive comments she'd heard on the fic and showed me that someone even made a fanmix! I cannot tell you how much that brightened my day. I'd love to hear from any of you directly, though, you can always reach me here or at my tumblr. 
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read, I really hope you enjoy these chapters!

If nothing else came of marching down into the bowels of the earth and through swarms of Maker-damned monsters, at least Varric could make a fortune off of the book sales. He tried to keep a catalogue of notes in his head as he trudged through yet another twenty or thirty miles of old stone halls (anything to stop wondering what in the Maker’s hairy ass that wet black goo covering the walls might be). Yes, “the tale of the brave explorers unearthing mountains of lost treasure in the great forgotten dark” sounded much better than “the ramshackle Lowtown sellswords playing Guess the Floor Stain while they crawled through shit centuries deep hoping to trip on a treasure chest.” Varric felt quite certain that if that blasted map led them down one more staircase, he might just rip the thing to pieces himself for all the treasure it was leading them to. It couldn’t be a good sign that even the darkspawn seemed reluctant to crawl down this far. Still, he could make a decent story out of the Dwarf that Froze the Ogre Solid, or the Bloodthirsty Dragon Brood Living in the Abandoned Monoliths, or the--

“Holy shit,” Varric stumbled to a halt, gaping.

Out of the dark ahead of them rose a staircase lined all the way to the top with ornate stone pillars. Lanterns built into the top of each pillar glowed a dim red. Above the steps, more lyrium veins clung to the walls, yet now other veins crossed among them. These glowed with the same red of the lanterns, and their light combined enough to reveal they stood in a vast, open cavern filled with more pillars and high, dark walls. Rubble and boulders filled much of what they could see. His eyes kept wandering back to the strange red veins. He had never heard of anything like them.

“Is this what you were expecting?” Hawke asked Bartrand. Varric glanced at his brother to find him looking, wide-eyed, around the cavern. Then he broke into the kind of grin that only a man running his fingers through a pile of gold coins might wear.

“I thought…” he said, “an abandoned thaig, something old, but… what is this?”

“How did you even know it was here?” said Hawke.

Bartrand took a few steps toward the end of the ledge where the stood. Talking more to himself than to Hawke, he murmured, “Old scavenger tales. After the Third Blight. A week below the surface, they said, but nobody believed them…”

“Looks like they were right,” Varric said, studying the staircase ahead of them.

The darkness revealed little where the lantern light and the lyrium veins did not break it, but traces of other pillars and columns leaned out of the shadows, branching far to the right and left and deep into the caverns beyond. Varric tried to imagine the room as it may once have been, perhaps a grand palace, or a market square, light and voices filling the cavern instead of rocks and shadows and red light bleeding over ruins. But even he struggled to picture it. A whole city dead in the Deep, buried beneath the bones of a hundred other thaigs: the grave of an empire. It was...breath-taking. And unsettling.

Bartrand turned suddenly from the ledge. his eyes bright as he barked, “Make camp here! We need to look around.”

The group descended from the ledge by a shorter, broader set of stairs. The floor seemed to be mostly dirt, but enough broken tiles peered out here and there to suggest a grander design. Varric stopped near the base of a particularly large pillar. Perfect lines carved deep into the stone ran along the base and the center, making simple but strong and sharp patterns where they ran. Varric trailed his fingers along the groove, then glanced around the room again. Something about it was wrong. Something in the lines and the walls, something in the light, something just on the tip of his tongue.

“I have seen a few of the old dwarf cities, but none like this. Does it feel strange to be where your people once ruled?”

Varric glanced up to see Velanna leaning on one of the other pillars. She looked not at him but up into the shadows of the ceiling, squinting at the darkness.

“You’ve probably seen more than I have,” Varric said, huffing something like a laugh. “So yes, it’s strange.”

“The elves and the dwarves have that in common, it seems,” she said. “More dead history than alive. At least you have a city still to call home.”

“Some do,” Varric shrugged. “Two, if you believe the rumors. But I’d take the surface any day.”

Velanna finally looked down at him, her brow furrowed. “You don’t miss what was lost to your people? All the cities, the culture, lost… all the greatness of Orzammar I hear tell of--”

“Right, the greatness of Orzammar. The infighting nobles killing each other to prove their importance while the least of them crumble with the stone and survive on the lyrium trade,” Varric said, shaking his head. He looked up at the staircase and sighed. “The past is just old wounds under the mountains that fester with darkspawn. The only thing it ever seems good for is the profit it catches topside. That’s where I was born, and where I’m happy to stay.”

Varric gave a little shrug. Velanna seemed stunned. She opened her mouth, then sighed and closed it again.

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t nice to look at, I guess,” Varric added after a moment.

“I don’t get it!” came a grumble from near the stairs, and Varric and Velanna turned to see Bartrand shaking his head at Hawke. “Nothing in this thaig makes sense.”

“Why’s that?” said Hawke as Varric moved to join them.

“We’re well below the Deep Roads. Whatever dwarves lived here, they came long before the First Blight,” Bartrad said. “But where are the statues of Paragons? I don’t recognize these markings on the wall or anything in the rubble.”

Varric glanced at the lantern again. That was it. That was what felt so wrong, even though he had never stepped foot in another thaig. Something in the very stones--though he would never say that aloud--felt off.

Hawke shrugged. “Who knows how old these ruins are? Maybe your people were different back then.”

“I know enough about our history to know we haven’t changed much,” Bartrand said, shaking his head. “Dwarves have been mired in tradition for many ages. These dwarves might have been unique. If so, I hope they kept their valuables close at hand.”

Varric rolled his eyes. From the platform above, Bodahn called for Hawke, and the group drifted away to set up camp while the older dwarf thanked Hawke for finding his son. Velanna kept eyeing Varric as they set out their bedrolls, then looking away quickly when he met her gaze. He smirked but shook his head. There were few things he and Bartrand found to agree on, but this was one of them: the only thing worth reclaiming for the dwarves was the gold.

 

* * *

 

The morning rang in with Carver’s hacking cough ripping into the silence. Varric pushed himself up onto his elbows, blinking away the sleep in his eyes as he strained to see Carver’s bedroll a few yards away. Carver lay hunched toward him, breathing unevenly, but quieter.

“Junior?” Varric croaked, “You okay?”

Hawke stirred next to his brother as Carver took a shuddering breath and pressed a hand to his head. He finally pushed himself to sit up, nodding absently at Varric. “Yeah… yeah… sorry. Must be the dust.”

Hawke murmured something but Carver waved him off, reaching for his waterskin.

“Well, what a lovely wake up call that was,” Bartrand grumbled, ignoring the glares the Hawke brothers shot him. “Might as well get this show on the road.”

They packed and ate from the rations Bodahn and Sandal passed out, with Bartrand urging them on impatiently all the while. He seemed eager to explore the rest of the thaig, and while Varric shared some of the excitement, he felt a sense of foreboding creeping up on him the longer they stayed in the cavern. Maybe there was something to the “Stone-sense” Bartrand always accused Varric of lacking. At least having it would probably give him a better idea of what time it was.

As they climbed the lantern-lined staircase and passed near the wall where the lyrium and red veins grew, Varric saw Hawke flinch to the side, and then Velanna do the same behind him. They both passed well to the other side of the ledge and then exchanged looks.

“You feel it too?” Hawke said.

Velanna frowned. “Is that… some kind of lyrium?”

“If I had to guess,” said Hawke, his eyes narrowing as he looked at it.

“What’s wrong?” asked Carver.

“Those red veins, they…” Velanna gestured vaguely.

“They buzz,” said Hawke. “Like… like a fly by your ear, only it isn’t a sound, it’s… I feel it, tugging at my magic.”

“Are they dangerous?” Carver stepped a little further back from the wall.

“I don’t… know. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just strange,” Hawke said.

Velanna looked up at them, then pursed her lips, beginning to toy with a ring on her finger. Finally, she said softly, “Justice says the song is different.”

“The song?” Carver looked back at her.

“All lyrium… has a song that spirits can hear. Justice told us of it once, before… we joined. Mortal ears cannot hear it. He said it was… beautiful.”

“And this sounds bad?” said Varric, gesturing at the veins.

“It sounds _different_ ,” she said.

Carver frowned. “What, like a lot of noise or something?”

“I don’t know, I can’t hear it,” Velanna grumbled.

“Well it looks bloody creepy,” said Carver, turning away.

“Are you four going to stand there chatting all day or can we get a move on?” Bartrand snapped from the staircase. He gestured for them to move ahead, and Varric looked at Hawke and rolled his eyes. Hawke took the lead, staff at the ready.

Past open cavern room they first arrived through there was only a narrow tunnel crawling with red veins, their only light beyond a wisp Hawke conjured as he led them through. It led down a steep stone staircase that looked like it may once have been wider, but crushed boulders cut off most of the passage. Rubble lay everywhere, and many of the wall carvings were covered up or broken away.

They eventually came to landing where the stairs widened, with broad landings after every few steps. As they reached it, all of them stopped. A few gasps went up from the hired men as the light of Hawke’s wisp fell on two massive figures made of solid rock. They stood against the wall but looked unlike any of the paragon statues or other carvings in the higher parts of the Roads. Their shape seemed far too basic and hulking, and they were made not of one smooth stone but of many rough-hewn rocks pushed together in a vaguely humanoid shape. More strange and startling than anything else were what seemed to serve as eyes: two glowing crystals for each statue, set deep in the round boulders that looked to be the heads. Crystal clusters covered their shoulders, and each had a wide, glowing circle carved beneath the head and around the top of the chest with runs along the edge. They looked out vacantly into the room, unmoving.

“By the ancestors,” murmured Bartrand, elbowing past his men to get closer. He moved to the foot of the two statues, staring up at their pulsing crystals. “It’s two golems! Two real sodding golems!”

Carver furrowed a brow. “I thought those were supposed to be legend.”

“So was this thaig, kid,” Bartrand said, never taking his eyes from the figures.

“You know, the Hero of Ferelden traveled with a golem, she surely did,” said Bodahn, and Sandal nodded excitedly next to him.

“Truly? That wasn’t a rumor?” Varric turned to the older dwarf, who smiled.

“I saw it myself, sure as I’m standing here! It seemed a bit smaller than these, and it had quite the temper. Didn’t seem to like birds very much,” said Bodahn.

“Bodahn, remind me to buy you a drink when we get out of this place, you’ve gotta have one hell of a tale,” chuckled Varric.

“Them’s dangerous, ain’t they?” hissed Marcus from behind them. “M-maybe we shouldn’t get too close.”

“You yellow-bellied nug-humpers,” Bartrand grumbled, stalking up to one of the golems and knocking on its rocky arm. It showed no sign of movement, its blank stare unwavering. Marcus frowned and looked away. Bartrand looked them over, peeking around behind them and into the corners next to them before turning back to the group.

“What are you standin’ around for? If we find the damn control rods, these rock heaps are worth a fortune each! Get moving! Spread out!” he barked.

Varric sighed. His brother had a point, of course, but to waste time looking for control rods that most likely lay in a thousand pieces under all the rubble and boulders surrounding them when they could be finding actual gold? And then getting the hell out of this dust pile? Shaking his head, he moved further into the room, eyeing the red lyrium veins breaking through the walls as he moved. The others spread out behind him.

He picked up a few of the smaller boulders, and peaked around the larger ones, but as he suspected, he found only more rocks and a few wriggling worms. He recoiled after finding the third, grumbling and stumbling backward onto the floor just as Hawke came up behind him.

“Bartrand seems far more enthralled with this place than you are,” Hawke laughed, offering his hand and helping the dwarf back to his feet.

Varric huffed a sigh. “Unlike him, I wasn’t born in Orzammar. I wouldn’t even be down here if there wasn’t profit in it.”

He glanced at the walls again, wrinkling his nose. “This entire place gives me the chills. Let’s hope it’s worth it. Unlike those golems.”

Hawke laughed again, then paused as he glanced further down the stairs. A high ledge obscured the rest of the passage, but the glow of the red lyrium from below was bright. Varric followed his gaze.

“Hmm,” Varric said, “Whatever’s through there, it seems to be intact. Think we’ll find anything?”

“A glowing display of golem control rods?” Hawke winked. “Or an army of deep stalkers.”

“At the rate this day is going…” Varric sighed. “I suppose we’ll need to go down there to find out.”

Hawke called to Carver and Velanna, who quickly followed them down the ledge and further past the rubble. They didn’t need to go far: just below the ledge was a heavy-looking stone door. Lyrium veins, both red and blue, clung to the wall on either side. Hawke took one step toward the door, and as he did, a strong, musty sort of scent filled the air, and Varric felt his skin prickle. That was all the warning they had before several shades appeared in front of the door, rising out of the dirt. Hawke leapt backward and blasted a sheet of ice across the lot of them before Varric had even reached for Bianca. Velanna wrenched her staff from her back and knelt, calling power to her hands and then slamming her staff down in front of her. The ground began to shake, and then burst before the shades in a flurry of vine-like roots, ripping and clawing at them with an unsettling sentience. Varric scrambled to load up his bolts as Carver flew past him, leaping over the roots to hack at the nearest creature.

For a moment, everything was a flurry of movement and flashing light pulsing from the hands of the two mages, and then, as quickly as it had begun, the shades diminished, and the room fell silent.

Panting, Varric slung Bianca over his shoulder. “Well, that’s some kind of welcome party.”

“What in the name of the ancestors was all that racket?”

Bartrand and his hirelings appeared on the stairs. Bartrand stopped when he caught sight of the door, and Varric smirked.

“Oh nothing, just a small army of evil spirits,” he said.

“Did you try the door yet?” said Bartrand, nearly ignoring Varric in his excitement.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Velanna said. “Something like that can only mean trouble.”

“Or, it means they were guarding something valuable,” Bartrand said with annoyance, folding his arms. “So get the door already.”

Hawke walked up to it cautiously, pressing an ear to it and then slowly pushing. It took some effort, but the door slowly slid open, and Carver, Velanna, and Varric followed him inside while Bartrand and the others waited. The door led them to an empty passageway lined on either side by troughs of bubbling lava. The tiled stone floor was smooth, and seemed better preserved than the rest of the thaig. They moved cautiously to the door at the other end, but met no other shades. Hawke stopped to listen again before pushing the second door open.

Red light spilled into the passageway. The room was vast, with the ceiling sloping far higher than anyone could guess from the outside, and a broad staircase leading up from the entrance to a high platform, lined on both sides by a few big but broken columns. The wall to the right had partly broken away, and an especially large and thick vein of red lyrium burst through and grew along the wall, cover some of the columns on the platform above. Slowly they moved up the stairs, finding a thick, square-cut stone slab just in front of them, and as they approached, a strange flash of red light went up from the center of it. Laying there was a strange looking carven idol, or something of that nature, with odd circular flourishes and intricate patterns that looked completely out of place against the thaig’s simple, geometric wall designs. Parts of it glowed and sparkled, but Varric couldn’t discern where the glow was even coming from.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he said, glancing at Hawke.

“Is that… lyrium?” said Hawke, his tone almost reverent.

Velanna frowned. “I feel its magic, but… it does not feel like something good.”

“Doesn’t look like any kind of lyrium I’ve ever seen,” Varric added.

Footsteps below signaled Bartrand had finally followed them, and he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, folding his arms and waiting. Varric grinned at him.

“Look at this, Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think! Could be worth a fortune!”

Bartrand let out a low whistle. “You could be right. Excellent find.”

Hawke carefully reached for it, and it let off another flash of red light just before he grabbed it. Velanna’s frown deepened. Hawke handed the idol to Varric, who tossed it down to Bartrand.

“Not bad,” said Varric, turning back to Hawke. “We’ll take a look around, see if there’s anything further in.”

“You do that,” said Bartrand.

“Not that I’m any judge, but that certainly didn’t look dwarven,” said Carver, leaning against the stone table.

“No, you’re right. I’ve handled a lot of ancient artifacts, and I’ve never seen its equal,” Varric replied. “There are stories of ancient dwarves having dealings with the Tevinter Imperium, but there aren’t many records of it. Could be something that made its way down from the surface.”

“But with that red lyrium… I’ve never heard of such a thing. If it’s Tevinter, it’s something they’ve kept well hidden, but I suppose--” Hawke looked up, then suddenly went rigid. “The door!”

Varric’s head snapped over, and for a moment, he was almost certain he was dreaming. Bartrand, his teeth bared with the effort and his face covered in the red glow from the idol, was straining to pull the door shut. Hawke and Carver barreled down the stairs with Velanna close behind them and Varric scampering after. It slammed shut with a horrible thud just as Hawke reached it, his hands fumbling desperately for any kind of handle.

Varric’s heart hammered in his chest. This wasn’t happening. This was a nightmare he would wake up panting from on the floor of the thaig where he slept the night before, and he’d find Bartrand snoring and mumbling across the room and everyone safe in their bedrolls.

“Bartrand!” he called desperately, helplessly. “It’s shut behind you!”

Even through the stone, Varric heard the chuckling, and his stomach dropped into his feet so fast it made him dizzy.

“You always did notice everything, Varric,” Bartrand called from the other side.

Varric looked up at Hawke, who had given up trying to find a handle and was looking at Varric pleadingly. Varric glared at the door.

“Are you joking?” he cried. “You’re going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?”

“It’s not just the idol,” Bartrand called back. “The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I’m not splitting that three ways.”

There was a pause, then he called, “Sorry, Brother.”

“Bartrand! _Bartrand_!” Varric shouted, running up to slam his fist against the door. No reply came.

Rage boiled through Varric’s body so fast and sudden he felt as if his veins pulsed with it, hot and fierce and completely foreign. He slammed his fist against the door again and growled, “I swear to god, I will find that son of a bitch -- sorry, Mother -- and I will kill him!”

His hand slowly slid away and he leaned his forehead against the stone, nearly shaking with the force of his anger. A memory came to him suddenly, wildly, of when he was only a child. He slipped while playing with Bartrand on the Wounded Coast near a cliff edge, plummeting several feet down the rocks and into the sea. Stunned and frightened, he plunged beneath the waves, the water filling his lungs and blurring his vision. He thrashed wildly against the waves, straining his head to find the surface, but there was nothing but water, no matter how hard he pushed his little fists against it. Somehow, the waves carried him to a rock jutting out of the sea, and he pulled himself onto its back. He collapsed against it, coughing up water and gasping for air, dizzy and disoriented and shaking with fear, shrinking away from the waves that crashed against the rock near his feet. For a moment now, so many years later, his head and hands pressed to the stone door, he was that child again, and it made him feel sick.

He pushed away from the door, fighting down his nausea and fear and trying to cling instead to the rage. He turned to the others. Hawke looked ready to break the door down with his bare hands. Velanna glared at the floor, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Carver was pulling his sword out.

“What are you _waiting_ for?” he cried. “Magic the bloody door down! That bastard is going to leave us for dead!”

“There’s no way we could hit it with enough force without bringing the whole wall down,” Hawke said, rubbing his temples.

“Maybe the whole place down, next to this much raw lyrium,” added Velanna, her voice tense. “We do not know what the effect the red lyrium may have.”

“Then what in the bloody hell are we supposed to do?” Carver growled.

“Hope that door up there is a way out of here,” Varric sighed. Carver glanced where Varric pointed. The dwarf had seen the door earlier when they stood on the platform.

Carver let out a few more swears, kicking at one of the loose rocks on the ground. Varric knew the feeling.

 

* * *

 

Hours passed in a haze of stone and sweat, one red-lit corridor blurring into the next. The red veins sprawled over the stone like claws, wrenching through the walls and biting into the columns, accompanied now and again by normal lyrium crystals clustered on the ground. Nearly every corner they turned held shades waiting to pounce, until just the sight of them was exhausting. Still, Varric threw himself into every fight, firing in a nearly blind frenzy. In the end, they were a welcome distraction from his thoughts, and he found himself imagining every one of them with Bartrand’s face, as if one solid bolt to that blighter’s head might kill the ache in Varric’s chest. As if it might stop him from wondering where he went wrong.

Bearing down his teeth against that thought, he sent another rain of bolts into the air. He fired until Bianca practically sang, ignoring the sweat and dirt beginning to cake his brow, and the pain in his arms. Keep going, damn you.

It almost startled him when Hawke said, “I think that’s the last of them for now.”

Panting, Varric’s eyes darted around a strange stone room he didn’t remember coming into. He slowly straightened, lifting Bianca back onto his shoulders.

"Does that mean we can rest? My legs are killing me," Carver said, slumping down onto a boulder. He took a heavy drink from his water skin. Hawke leaned on his staff next to Carver, swiping a hand over his brow.

Velanna wandered toward one of the walls. She lifted her hand to the stone, looking it up and down. She mumbled something to herself, rubbing her fingers together and furrowing her brow at them.

"Something wrong?" Hawke said, glancing at her.

"No," she said, "It's merely... strange. There is no corruption here, no taint from the darkspawn. No trace of them at all."

"Too far down?" Hawke said.

"Perhaps, though that in itself is... noteworthy. I sense none of them anywhere close."

"Well, at least something's going right today," Varric mumbled.

"But I do sense--"

A strange rattling, like rocks moving over one another, sounded up ahead of them. Velanna glanced back at them and frowned, then swung her staff in front of her. Varric reached for Bianca as Carver pulled himself back to his feet. The sound seemed to be coming from a door further into the shadows, and grew louder as they approached.

Velanna pressed her ear to the door, then looked back at the others, holding up her hand. Slowly, she pushed the door open, bracing her shoulder against it. As it opened, she let out a gasp.

"Creators! What in Mythal's name...?"

The room was vast, but looked little different from many of the others they passed through save for a bridge path at the center. It was lined with columns on either side, widening to a sort of platform in the middle. And it was full of shades.

But not only shades, Varric saw as he moved in after Carver. All around the room, they were accompanied by... rock creatures. Varric blinked, convinced he must be hallucinating. Each looked like a strange humanoid clump of floating rocks held together by streams of light that reminded him faintly of bones. He had heard stories of such creatures from the odd drunken dwarf or two, a legend carried up from Orzammar, but... just a story.

Yet here they stood in angry droves, clacking and grating as they moved with alarming speed straight for the group. He had Bianca spitting bolts faster than even Hawke could read a spell, sending one flying into a pile of rubble before it could slam its fist into the mage's side. Hawke nodded to him, then set his hands glowing.

The battle was a flurry of light, with a Carver's sword sparking wherever it slammed down against stone, and the mages hurtling magic through the air as fast as they could. Varric stayed near the door, sinking bolts into the shades that swooped down on Velanna while she pelted them with fire.

"Enough!"

The voice thundered through the room over the din of the fight, stilling the rock creatures and even giving the shades pause. Slowly, they began to move away, the shades dissolving into the shadows and the rock creatures hobbling to the far sides of the room, waiting. On the bridge path ahead of them, a far bigger rock creature emerged from the dust.

"You have proven your mettle," it said, its voice like two stones rubbing against one another. "I would not see these creatures harmed without need."

Velanna tensed as it spoke. Hawke stepped closer.

"I'd say being attacked on sight gives us plenty of need," he said.

"They will not assault you further, not without my permission," the creature said.

"What are these things?" Varric whispered to Hawke. "They seem like rock wraiths, but--"

"They hunger," boomed the creature. It lifted its head, or what looked like its head, and surveyed the room. "The profane have lingered in this place for ages beyond memory, feeding on the magic stones until the need it all they know."

"The lyrium?" Hawke said. "That's what sustains them?"

The creature looked down at him. "I am not as they are. I am... a visitor."

Hawke looked over at Velanna. "Any insight?"

"It is a hunger demon," she said, frowning. "Their need feeds it."

"Wonderful," Carver murmured.

"I would not see my feast end," said the creature. "I sense your desire. You seek to leave this place but you will need my aid to do so."

"Do not heed it," hissed Velanna, her grip tightening on her staff.

"Could be a way out of here," Carver said. "I don't know..."

"What are our options?" said Varric. Dealing with a demon didn't exactly sound like the wisest course of action, but if it was that or wander in the deep with rock wraiths and Maker-Knew-What Else waiting to kill them if starvation didn't do it first, a fast track out of here was starting to sound good.

Hawke pursed his lips, then looked back at the demon. "Why do we need your aid to leave?"

"There is another door that leads into the paths far above us. That is what you seek. It has been sealed, however, and cannot be opened without a key. I know where the key is. Do as I ask, and I shall tell you."

"Hmph," Varric frowned. Typical. "So what do you think, Hawke?"

Hawked glanced at him, then slowly shook his head. Varric felt his heart sink.

"We're not dealing with a demon," said Hawke, raising his staff.

"Thank the Creators," breathed Velanna.

Varric sighed. Death by starvation it was, then.

"Most unwise," the demon growled.

From behind them, the rock wraiths came charging back. Carver leapt to dispatch the demon with a yell while Varric and the others turned Bianca on the creatures, pelting them. By the time the last wraith fell into a rock heap, all of them were panting and dripping with sweat.

"I suppose this would be as good a place as any for a rest, now," Hawke said, leaning against a column. Varric laid Bianca gently against a boulder before heaving himself down. He took a cloth from his belt and began carefully wiping the blood and dirt from her.

"I don't suppose any of you had the supernatural foresight to snag some rations from Bodahn this morning," he sighed, his stomach punctuating his words with a growl.

Velanna slung her pack down and knelt next to it, fishing through her things for a moment. Finally, she pulled a small satchel free. She moved first to Hawke, then to Carver, and finally to Varric, dropping a few pieces of dried meat into their palms.

"Wow, Blondie, I was kidding, but maybe that passenger of yours does come in handy. I'd appreciate a heads up the next time my brother is going to betray me and leave me for dead in the Deep Roads, though," Varric said, biting off a piece of the meat.

"These were my own," she said, looking away as she sat down a few feet across from him."Preparations for... my journey."

Hawke looked up. "Velanna... I"m sorry. We could still come--"

"Just eat," she grumbled, ripping a piece for herself.

 

* * *

 

Varric fell in and out of sleep that night. He saw Bartrand's face grinning at him over the idol each time he close his eyes, and every tumbling pebble or shift of clothes jolted him awake again.

Velanna insisted on taking first watch, and perching herself near the door. After a couple hours of Varric's tossing and turning, she began humming to herself. The sound was low, almost gentle, a tune Varric had never heard. Still, the sound was oddly soothing, and slowly, slowly, Varric slipped into an uneasy sleep.

Hours later, it was Hawke's voice that woke him. The human now sat in Velanna's space while the elf lay nearby, but he was scrambling to his feet when Varric lifted his head.

"Carver?"

Varric looked around in a sleepy daze for the other human, craning his neck. A groan drew his attention, and he saw Carver laying across the room, groaning and shaking. Hawke slid to his knees beside him, shaking his shoulder.

"Carver. Carver, wake up. _Carver_!"

Varric sat up. Even in the dim light, he saw Carver's muscles suddenly tense, then his arm snap up, his hand clamping on his brother's neck. The dwarf scrambled to his feet.

"Junior! What are you _doing_?!"

As quickly as he had moved, Carver flinched back, wrenching his hand away. He sat panting for several moments as Hawke rubbed his neck and coughed. Out of the corner of his eye, Varric caught sight of a crackle of light, and turned his head. Lightning dancing across Velanna's fingers slowly fizzled out as Carver pulled away. Varric and Velanna locked eyes for a moment as she lowered her hand.

"I'm... sorry... Brother," Carver breathed. His eyes were wide, his hand shaking a little at his side.

"Are you... all right?" Hawke said hoarsely, still rubbing his neck.

"I... fine. Just... just a nightmare."

"Some nightmare, Junior," said Varric, turning back to his bedroll.

"I said I was sorry!" Carver snapped.

Varric looked back over his shoulder, but Carver just looked... frightened. Varric shook his head and said nothing.

"Well, if we're awake, we might as well keep moving," said Hawke, pushing to his feet.

Varric's stomach growled.


	13. The Deep Roads Expedition, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric has had just about enough of these rock wraiths. Fortunately, this one's guarding a treasure pile. Meanwhile, Carver's health is rapidly failing, and finding Velanna's old Warden companions may be his only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art in this chapter by the fantastic serenity-fails. You can find her tumblr by clicking the picture or going to serenity-fails.tumblr.com.

"What is this place?"

Another half-hour of walking brought them to a dark, cavernous room. Hawke came to a stop, looking around. The columns here bore different designs, and Varric knew enough to recognize the shape.

"This is the vault," he said, a little excitedly. "The dwarves would have brought their--"

A clash of rock behind them interrupted him. They whirled around and watched in horror as several massive boulders slid over the ground and then lifted into the air, wreathed and then held by a bright red light shaped like bones.

"Oh, that... can't be good," Varric said.

A rock wraith nearly as tall as the room itself rose before them, letting out a terrible growl. It swept its arm over the ground, and Varric barely leapt out of its way in time. He rolled to the side, ducking behind one of the columns and scrambling to reach for Bianca. He pivoted around the side of column, firing at the creature's head, and caught sight of Carver lashing at its legs with his greatsword. Carver tried to keeps its attention while his brother sent a mass of ice careening toward its chest. Behind them, Velanna ran around the side of a further column and knelt. Magic wreathed her hands for a moment, and then she slammed them into the ground. Bolts of light raced through the dirt and burst up as vines, lashing at the profane’s legs as Carver jumped to the side. The creature roared in anger, tearing at the vines.

Squaring his shoulders, Carver took a running leap toward the creature and send his sword thundering down onto its arm as it swiped at Velanna’s vines. The profane let out another roar and swatted Carver away, sending him flying backward. He landed with his back to the ground, gasping. Hawke ran to him, already summoning healing magic to his fingers. Varric gritted his teeth, pelting the rock wraith with bolts.

Ripping away the last of the vines, the creature took several booming steps into the center of the columns and stopped. Velanna stumbled backward out of its way, pressing herself to the side of the stone. Slowly it rose into the air, curling in on itself. A terrible light began to pulse from its core, and in the flashes, Varric saw Velanna’s eyes widen.

“Quickly!” she hollered toward Hawke. “Take cover!”

Hawke’s head snapped up.

“Behind a pillar!” she shrieked. “Out of the way! _Now_!”

Hawke yanked Carver to his feet and pulled him behind a column just as Varric ducked back. A moment later, a blinding light tore through the room with a terrible noise, like the horn of a ship. Varric felt the heat of it nearly singing his cheek, and his flinched back against the stone. At last the light disappeared, and then there was a loud crash, like stones colliding.

Varric risked a peek around the side of the pillar, blinking away the spots in front of his eyes from the light. The boulders making up the rock wraith’s body had fallen to the ground, leaving only a small core of light. The rocks seemed to be slowly sliding toward it.

“Is it dead?” he heard Carver call from across the room.

“No.”

The voice, deep and ethereal, echoed loudly in the chamber and made Varric stiffen. For a moment he thought the wraith spoke, but then Velanna emerged from behind her column, her eyes and body glowing with a green light that seemed to break through her like the vines she sent at the creature.

“Perfect,” Varric muttered.

“It is weakened! It must regain its strength. Attack it now!” she called, her voice a strange blend of Justice’s and her own, and it set the hair on Varric’s neck on end. Still, he didn’t need to be told twice, and aimed Bianca at the growing sphere of light.

His bolts met twin volleys of magic from behind two columns, and then Carver, ducking around them, ventured out toward it, lifting his sword with a cry. They attacked until the boulders began to rise once again, magic stretching from the sphere to hold them in place. Hawke shouted, and Carver dashed back out of its way, letting the others continue their assault until the creature pulsed again.

Three times they endured its power, and three times it rose again from rubble, until Varric feared the pillars might not hold against the creature’s magic much longer. Pebbles and dust fell into their faces as they fought, trying to dodge the long swipes of its rocky arms. Then, at last, Carver landed one final blow at its center, snuffing the magical light that held the creature together. He barely scrambled out of the way in time as the boulders collapsed into a pile. For a long moment, none of them moved, their weapons trained on the profane, waiting for the stones to rise. When several minutes passed and the rubble remained still, Varric slowly lowered Bianca, and Carver slumped against a column, panting. The green glow of Justice’s light faded, sending Velanna to her knees, clutching her head.

“Velanna?” Hawke turned to her, concerned.

Her hands slowly fell from her face as she gasped for breath. Shaky fingers dug into the earth beneath her.

“You all right, Blondie?” Varric asked, still a little breathless.

“I never should have come,” she rasped, lifting a dirt-streaked face to look on the rock pile.

“It’s all right,” Hawke said. “You saved our lives.”

Velanna flinched. “You don’t… understand.” She wrenched her fingers out of the dirt, sending some of it flying.

Varric swiped a hand over his forehead, though he suspected he only managed to smear more dust into it. “Look, let’s just take a rest, and--Hawke!”

As Varric had turned to look for a decent place to camp, a glittering in the corner caught his eye. The vault! He ran toward it. It took up a whole big alcove in the back of the chamber, its floor littered with piles of gold coins and jewels, along with several chests.

“Look what that thing was guarding!”

Hawke was fast on his heels. “Think there’s a key somewhere in all of that?”

“Don’t know where else it would be,” said Varric, reaching for the nearest chest.

“Maker’s breath,” Carver said as he joined them. “I don’t believe it.”

“I say we take a rest, then grab all we can carry and get out of his wretched hellhole,” Varric said, rifling through the chest. His fingers hit up against a longer shape in the midst of the coins, and he sat back on his heels, plucking it free. “And here’s the ticket out.”

They set to work filling their packs with all the treasure they could carry, then sat back to have a drink and chew on a few scraps of dried fruit from Velanna’s store. Varric hauled Bianca into his lap, running a handkerchief over her and wrinkling his nose at the thick layer of dust it wiped away. He spared a quick glance to Velanna, who had curled herself into a far corner of the alcove, away from the others. The odd light of the lyrium veins kept the darkness at bay, but she seemed determined to curl into what shadows it afforded.

Hawke’s head lifted toward her too, and he frowned. “Velanna, are you sure you’re all right?”

Velanna turned her face toward the wall. “Leave me be. I am fine.”

“Blondie, if you mope any more, you’re going to give that Tevinter elf a run for his money,” Varric said, frowning at scratch in Bianca’s tiller.

“I am not moping,” she snapped, jerking her head up.

Hawke sighed. “Velanna, nothing has been right with you since you stepped foot in here. Do we need to be concerned about more… appearances of Justice?”

“I told you that I am fine and I am! Now leave me to rest!”

“But if there’s something--”

“I said leave me _alone_!” she yelled, jerking to her feet so fast she sent a pile of coins careening to the floor. Her hands lit with magic.

Varric dropped his cleaning cloth and tightened his grip on Bianca. Hawke leapt to his feet. Carver reached for his sword. She stared them down for a moment, panting and baring her teeth.

“Velanna,” Hawke said cautiously.

The elf let the magic around her fingers fizzle out, and she closed her eyes, sinking back onto the stone. She pressed a trembling hand to her face.

“This place…” she said quietly, eyes still closed, “holds terrible memories. Many of them. And the last time I came with the Wardens… haunts me.”

She laughed suddenly, a sharp, bitter sound. Varric slowly eased his grip on Bianca. Hawke stayed on his feet, watching her carefully.

Velanna looked down at her hands. “I can hardly remember why were were even in the Deep Roads. Reports of darkspawn, perhaps, or clearing the tunnels. Whatever the reason, Justice chose to accompany us. He still had his… well, not his, exactly… but he still walked in the old corpse. Time… had passed since he first joined us and the… corpse had decayed a great deal.”

“Eww!” Carver said, wrinkling his nose. Velanna seemed not to hear him.

“We… had been talking a long time, he and I, of the plight of the elves, of the history and the betrayal and the terrible lot we have to live with. He talked of ideas, things we might accomplish together, though I told no one of it. And as his body fell apart, the idea came… but I still felt very uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a body.

“In the midst of this, our expedition left. Several days in we made camp at a crossroad, and I took watch. I was looking down one of the tunnels, and…”

She bit her lip, closing her eyes again. “I swore I saw my sister. Her hair… her face, I _know_ that I saw her. She seemed to be watching from the shadows down one of the tunnels. I leapt up and ran to her, but when I came near, she ran into the darkness. I called for her, tried to chase her. I wasn’t thinking of where I was turning, where I was headed, I just… needed to reach her. I called and called and ran and ran, but she never answered.

“Eventually, I was lost. I couldn’t remember where I’d gone or how to reach the others. I tried to sense where they were, but as I did, I grew aware of darkspawn, a whole army, coming toward me from several directions.”

Velanna swallowed, bunching her fingers into her robe at her knees. “There was nowhere I could run, they would be on me too quickly. I tried to look for somewhere to hide, as fruitless as that would have been. Darkspawn can sense Wardens as easily as we can sense them. It was then that Justice appeared.

“He said he followed me when I didn’t immediately return to camp. He never slept, you see, he had no need of it. He said he called to me, but I did not hear him. He told me to return with him, but I told him of the darkspawn, that we could not hope to outrun them. They were almost upon us.

“He...he said there might be a way to survive it if we… if we joined. Something about combined power. I hesitated, I… but it was all happening so quickly, and I thought of Seranni, and of…”

She bit her lip again, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. “I don’t remember anything after it happened. I saw the darkspawn pouring into the room, every corner filling with them, and then there was a light, and then… I woke in the dirt outside a cave on Sundermount. The Dalish there found me, nursed me back to health.”

She drew in a breath, slowly opening her eyes. “So, that’s it. The memory is even stronger… even heavier than I realized. When that creature attacked us, I felt…”

She shook her head and fell silent.

“Maker’s balls,” Carver mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Varric’s sentiments exactly, really.

“What of the other Wardens?” asked Hawke. “Did Justice not alert them?”

“He did,” she said. “But there were too many crossroads, and Justice volunteered to try one way while the other two searched another.”

“Do you know if they… survived?”

She nodded slowly. “I thought… for a long time… they might be dead. But I saw one of them in Kirkwall not long ago.”

“Did you speak to them? Did you not--”

“No,” she said firmly. “Things are different now. If they… it just… what’s done is done.”

Hawke nodded, and Varric leaned his arm and Bianca and said, “That’s one hell of story, Blondie.”

Velanna just frowned at her knees, looking uneasy.

“Well, maybe we all should… take a rest after that,” said Hawke, glancing at the others.

“I’ll take watch,” Velanna said, reaching for her staff at her feet.

 

* * *

 

Varric woke to voices--no, whispers. They echoed strangely in the alcove behind him. Fear tightened his muscles, and he nearly reached for Bianca until they suddenly grew a little louder.

“Carver, don’t be a fool. I know what I--”

“You’re wrong, elf,” Carver hissed. “It’s just a few nightmares and all the dust from the ground--”

“I can sense it in you. It’s very serious, if you--”

“No. I don’t know what you’re sensing but I’m _fine_. The blight isn’t a slow thing, and I’ve been coughing for days.”

“True, but--”

“Ah, you see? It’ll all clear up once we get to the surface. We have enough to worry about.”

“You are being very foolish!”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion. I’m fine. And don’t bring this up to Garrett, either, he worries enough as it is.”

“You are a pig-headed _boy_ and this will not be on my hands,” Velanna grumbled. There was a rustle, and then Varric saw Velanna’s feet stalk across the floor, deftly avoiding the coin piles. He heard her footsteps disappear toward the farther side of the chamber.

“Making friends as always, Carver,” came a sleepy rumble from Hawke’s bedroll.

Varric heard a quick shuffle and imagined Carver jumping in surprise.

“I… didn’t know you were awake,” he said.

“I wasn’t, until a moment ago,” said Hawke. He yawned. “What in the world did you say to her?”

“Nothing,” Carver said quickly, “I just… just mentioned that… maybe Justice--”

“Oh, Carver, don’t antagonize her about that,” said Hawke. “She’s obviously been through enough.”

“I…” Carver hesitated. “Right. Sorry.”

Varric frowned.

Velanna returned a few minutes later, arms full of deep mushrooms.

“Here,” she said, dropping them onto the top of one of the chests.

Varric grabbed one of them and held it up, examining it in the lyrium light. “Why do I get the feeling I won’t even be able to look at another mushroom by the time this is over?”

“Just eat,” said Velanna. “We need to get moving.”

“How long do you think it’ll take us to reach the surface?” asked Hawke between bites.

“If we’re unlucky?” said Varric. “A week. Maybe two.”

“And if we’re lucky?”

Varric plucked another mushroom from the pile. “We stumble over Bartrand’s corpse on the way.”

Hawke chuckled.

 

* * *

 

Days passed, the long, dusty dark of the Deep Roads seemed to stretch endlessly before them. Velanna’s rations dulled the worst of the hunger gnawing their bellies, but only just. Even the deep mushrooms Velanna tracked down and the one nug Varric was lucky enough to catch scarcely helped. They walked until Varric’s feet ached terribly, blisters and sores hounding every step, and his knees felt weak. They walked until Varric seriously thought of dropping a few coins and jewels from his pack, just to ease the pain in his shoulders. They walked until even a bowl of Corff’s rancid Hanged Man stew started to sound better than another plate of mushrooms.

The first thing he would do when they reached the surface, Varric promised himself, was buy the biggest, softest bed in Kirkwall. Maybe in all of Thedas. How his kin could favor stone slabs over a feather mattress, Varric would never understand. No, give him one hundred pillows fluffier than an Orlesian wig. Maybe two hundred. After the hour-long hot bath with an entire bottle of expensive brandy--the really good stuff. And then he would lie back in the water and think of all the terrible ways he would find to kill Bartrand. He sighed at the thought as they approached what was surely the eighteenth set of stairs they had climbed that day. His pack dug into his shoulders and he grunted, swiping a hand over his forehead. He felt days’ worth of dust and sweat caking his skin and clinging to his hair. At least, he hoped that was all it was. After plowing through several groups of hungry deep stalkers and a few small groups of darkspawn, he shuddered to think what else might be smeared on his face and staining his clothes.

Oddly, he did take some measure of comfort in Velanna sensing the darkspawn again, and in seeing the blight on the walls. At least that meant the surface was nearer, that every awful step carried them further from that horrible thaig. They were going to make it, he told himself. Just another few days and they would all see the sun again.

“Wait,” Carver called as they reached the top of the stairs. “Think we could...take a break? I feel… wrong.”

“Let’s make camp if you’re sick,” Hawke said, slinging his pack down from his shoulders.

“I’ll wager it was those last deep mushrooms,” said Varric. “Didn’t exactly taste right.”

“No,” said Carver, “it’s…”

Carver slumped to his knees, and the others whirled around as he sank to the floor.

“Carver!” Hawke cried, running to him.

Carver looked pale, even in the light of the glowstones. Varric’s heart sank. The boy’s coughing fits and nightmares only grew worse over the last few days, his steps a little slower and a little more stumbling every hour. Just a passing illness, he kept insisting, trying to hide his shaky hands and avoid Velanna’s eyes. Varric said nothing, hoping he was right, and Velanna, whatever her reasons, did the same. Hawke hovered close to him as they walked, but either out of hope or desperation, he took Carver’s word.

Now Carver slumped in his arms, feverish and shaking. As Varric drew closer, he could see small black veins creeping up the side of Carver’s face. A terrible fear lit up in Hawke’s eyes.

“Carver, what’s wrong?”

Velanna took off her pack and slowly knelt down beside them. “Your brother has the blight. I can sense it.”

“ _What_?” Hawke snapped.

“She’s… right…” Carver said weakly. “I can...feel it. Just like… that templar, Wesley. I’ll… be just as dead… just as gone…”

“No! When did this… how… there must be some other way!” cried Hawke, looking up at Velanna.

“I’m not...going to make it…” said Carver. “Not to the surface...not anywhere. It’s… getting worse.”

Velanna took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself, and met Hawke’s gaze. “There… might be something we can do. I mentioned seeing a Warden in Kirkwall? I… stole the maps from him. I wanted to know… if he was looking for me. He wasn’t.”

Did that sound bitter? (Well, more bitter than usual.) Varric filed that one away for later.

“The maps were for planning their own expedition into the Deep Roads,” she continued.

“So they’re here?” Hawke said, tightening his grip on Carver.

“If they are, I know where,” said Velanna. “We could bring Carver to them…”

“And what?” rasped Carver, turning his head to cough. “Become a Grey Warden?”

“Is… becoming a Warden a cure?” Hawke looked up at her again.

“...In a sense,” she said cautiously, “But it’s not without a price--one not everyone is willing to pay.”

“What price?” snapped Hawke. “Maker’s breath, _spit it out_!”

Velanna bit her lip. “The process of becoming a Grey Warden is… unpleasant. And irreversible. It also means you might never see your brother again. He might survive the blight, but at the cost of becoming a Warden. It is not an easy life. Trust me.”

“What cost?” Hawke demanded. “How does it work?”

“I can’t… tell you,” Velanna said. “But it’s not something you can undo once it’s done.”

“What the hell do you mean you can’t tell me? He’s my _brother_ ,” said Hawke.

“This... just keeps sounding... better and better,” Carver said, and Hawke looked back down at him, missing the pained look that crossed Velanna’s features.

“It’s your only chance,” he said desperately.

“They will likely agree, but we have to find them in time,” said Velanna.

Hawke looked up at her, then back at Carver. “If there’s even a chance, we must take it.”

Carver frowned, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

“Then we hurry,” said Velanna, already reaching for her pack again, then for Carver’s.

Hawke slung his own onto his back, then draped Carver’s arm over his shoulders and slowly lifted him. Carver strained and groaned with the effort, sending him into another coughing fit. Velanna stepped close, taking Carver’s other arm, and holding both Hawke’s and her own staff in her free hand.

“This way,” she said, marching them toward a nearby tunnel. Varric took up the rear, keeping a careful eye trained behind them.

No part of their long journey home seemed longer than this last walk. Varric fought against the ache in his arms to keep Bianca lifted and ready, while the others half dragged Carver through a series of tunnels that weaved in and out of the Deep Roads proper. It was too slow, far too slow, and Varric was certain Hawke could feel it even more than he could. He tried not to wonder how they were going to find their way back. Mercifully, most of the tunnels seemed empty of anything but old spider webs and light stones.

Finally, she called them to a halt as they came near the mouth of one of the tunnels.

“What’s wrong?” Hawke said, adjusting his hold on Carver.

“I think I sense them… up ahead,” said Velanna, turning her head. “It will not be much longer, now.”

They walked closer to the tunnel’s opening. Then suddenly, she tensed, and the sound of clashing metal could be heard. “No, that is… darkspawn.”

She carefully leaned Carver onto Hawke and handed Hawke his staff. Varric moved from behind them and followed her to the opening.

She leapt ahead of Varric, summoning a bright burst of fire magic. Varric followed quickly, adrenaline dulling the pain in his arms as he launched a shower of bolts into the air.

He saw as he reached the opening that the Wardens were there after all, two of them, fighting off what seemed to be a small darkspawn raiding party. By the Wardens’ size they looked to be dwarves, but their helmets hid their faces. One cut into three genlocks with twin blades flashing, while the other hefted a large greatsword into the belly of a tall hurlock. Varric concentrated on two archers near the wall, spitting bolts faster than the could nock their arrows. Velanna rained fire down onto the heads of several warriors rushing at the Wardens from behind. Both of them looked up as the fire ignited over the darkspawn, and one stopped moving altogether, staring at Velanna and Varric.

“Hey! On your right!” Varric called, and the Warden ducked just in time to miss a hurlock’s wide swing. Recovering quickly, the Warden pivoted around to bury a dagger in the hurlock’s side, kicking its legs out and sending it crashing to the floor. Another wave of magic felled the rest, and Varric’s bolts sent the last archer flailing to the ground.

When all the creatures lay lifeless, the Warden that had stopped to stare at Velanna threw down her daggers and wrenched her helmet off, staring wide-eyed at Velanna.

“I’ll be a son of a nug,” said the other, reaching for his helmet. A fiery red beard and a shock of ginger hair standing on end burst from beneath it. His companion, her face covered in tattoos nearly as dark as her pigtails, launched herself halfway across the room before he finished speaking. She stopped directly in front of Velanna, glaring up at her, and then gave her a controlled but still heavy shove to the arm.

Velanna winced and hissed. “Ow! Hey!”

“You are one cruel,” she shoved the other arm, “horrible,” another shove, “selfish,” another shove, “stupid elf!”

Then she grabbed Velanna, yanking her into a tight hug so suddenly that Velanna dropped her staff.

“Do you have any idea…” the dwarf said into Velanna’s robes, “... _any_ idea how long we looked? Ancestors, where have you _been_?”

Velanna, startled at first, seemed to have no idea where to put her hands as the dwarf squeezed her. But Varric swore he saw her lip quiver when she finally settled for patting one of the dwarf’s pauldrons.

[ ](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com/post/94121783911/redredribbon-is-a-cool-lady-that-lets-me-have)

“Sigrun… I…” she started, but then Carver began to cough again, and Velanna stiffened. “Listen, there’s no time. Where is--”

“We heard the commotion!”

Two more Wardens, human-size, one carrying a staff and the other a bow, came running around the corner. They both stopped dead at the sight of Velanna, the archer dropping his bow. At the sound of the clatter, Sigrun let go of Velanna.

“Nathaniel, look!” she shouted.

“You cannot possibly be serious,” said the mage.

The archer slowly reach up and pulled his helmet free, dark hair falling around his shoulders. He looked up at Velanna as if she might be a vision, his eyes wide, and he took several slow steps toward her. For a moment, he seemed unable to speak, but Varric watched his expression of shock slowly turn into one of… well, _that_ was nothing short of unbridled _joy_.

Interesting.

Varric looked up at Velanna, and he could see her jaw clenching nearly as hard as her fists as she stared at him.

“Velanna?” he finally managed to whisper.

“Velanna, _please_ ,” Hawke called from further into the tunnel as Carver’s knees began to buckle.

Velanna shook away her stupor. “Creators, there’s no time. Nathaniel, this boy has the taint."

Nathaniel looked behind her to where Hawke struggled to walk Carver to the tunnel’s opening. Then he looked back to Velanna. “You wish us to take him? I cannot begin to comprehend this--”

“He will fight well and he is worth the time. He has been fighting it back for days, more than a week,” said Velanna.

“A _week_?” Sigrun said. “Son of a nug, kid!”

Nathaniel sighed. “You know we do not recruit out of pity. It may be as much of a death sentence as the sickness.”

“You think it’s kinder to let Carver die?” Hawke growled.

“I’m sorry,” said Nathaniel, “but sometimes it is, yes.”

“He will die anyway, but if he is this strong...” Velanna said. “Take him and try. I’m asking you.”

Nathaniel stared at her a moment, looking at if there were too many things he wanted to say. Then his gaze drifted back to Carver.

“Might as well, Nate, kid’s got spirit and the more the merrier right now,” said the mage, leaning on his staff.

“If the boy comes, he comes now, then,” Nathaniel said. He looked to Hawke. “I will not lie. You may not see him again. Being a Grey Warden is not a cure. It is a calling.”

Carver lolled his head to look up at Hawke. “Are you sure about this?”

Hawke knit his brows, looking as if he was holding together more than just Carver. “I’m so sorry, Carver. I… I’d give anything to go back, to keep you from coming, I… is this… what you want? I… can’t bear… but if…”

Carver looked at Nathaniel, blinking a few times, then slowly looked back to Hawke. He said softly, “Take care of Mother.”

The mage Warden moved quickly to Carver’s side, taking his arm as Hawke let go. Hawke moved in front of Carver, grabbing his face.

“Be strong,” he said, “Do you hear me? You’ll make it. You’ve always… been the strongest.”

Hawke’s voice broke, and so did Varric’s heart.

“No, brother,” said Carver, “I was just trying to be as strong as you.”

Hawke let go of Carver’s face to grip his hand. “I love you.”

“I’m sorry,” the mage interrupted, “But we must move quickly if we’re going to make it.”

“Goodbye, brother,” said Carver.

Hawke watched, frightened and broken, as the mage led his brother away.

Sigrun gave him a pat on the arm, though Hawke hardly seemed to notice. Then she looked up at Velanna. “You can come back with us. The Commander would--”

“No,” Velanna said quickly. She looked away. “I cannot go back. Not now. I… I am… sorry.”

“Velanna--” Nathaniel started.

“ _Please_ ,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Please just save him.”

Nathaniel stared at her a moment longer, then stepped forward, grabbing her hand. “Tell where I’ll find you.”

“Nathaniel--”

“I will _not_ do this again, Velanna, _tell me_.”

Velanna swallowed, her hand trembling under his. “Kirkwall. The alienage. Look for the lit lantern and knock twice.”

He nodded once, lingering as if he might say something more. Then he dropped her hand and turned to follow after the others.

Velanna’s shoulders sagged, and she dropped onto a nearby rock. Hawke still stood, watching after the Wardens long after they disappeared from sight. Varric came to stand silently at his side.

Finally, Velanna reached for her staff. “Let us be rid of this place.”

 


	14. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Velanna returns home to Kirkwall with thoughts of the past still haunting her, but Nathaniel isn't finished with her yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I'M ALIVE AND UPDATING THIS POOR FORSAKEN FIC. To the two of you that are probably still reading this, a thousand of the Maker's greatest blessings on you. I hit a really bad anxiety spiral with my writing after this chapter, and I couldn't even begin to think about writing for awhile. Inquisition sort of helped me get back into things, and I've been writing some short fics to get my groove back, if you will. I promise I haven't abandoned this thing, and I also promise it will not take me 8 months to update it again. My goal is at least once a month.
> 
> Seriah Tabris belongs to [serenity-fails](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com) my dear friend and wonderful beta, and she's graciously allowed me to use her as the Hero of Ferelden for this fic. This chapter is a massive angst fest, I apologize in advance. Please also note that the rating has gone up. I hope you enjoy it.

The children saw Velanna first, dropping the dirty red ball they were kicking across the market square to run to her when she stepped through the alienage gates. She hoped if she kept her hood low she might slip in through the crowd and reach her door unnoticed, but the sun was high, and fell across her vallaslin as she lifted her head. They knew her immediately. They called her name as they scampered toward her, turning heads across the square, and she winced.

She patted their heads as they bounced at her feet, their storyteller back to entertain them with _real_ elf stories. A few of the adults nodded to her or called a greeting, but most just stared, whispering to one another. She raised her chin and marched to her door, ignoring the gossip and hoping her cloak hid most of the grime and bruises from her travels. She waved the children away with promises to renew their lessons soon, and then shut the door firmly behind her, leaning back against it with a sigh.

The scent of wood greeted her, old but strong, and everything in her uncoiled at once as she breathed it in. Her pack dropped to the floor, coins spilling out, and she slid down the door to crumple on the floor boards. To smell something so familiar and so full of _life_ after weeks of dust and darkness and death was a relief--a sudden, overwhelming sign that yes, she still lived, and the world still lived around her. The Creators were merciful yet.

Justice stirred, pulling at her thoughts, but she dismissed him as she pulled herself to her feet. She had earned a moment’s rest, and she intended to take it.

Velanna doubted there was enough elfroot in all of Kirkwall to cleanse the journey from her mind, but she used every last bit of it to wash it from her body. Filling the old wooden tub in the very back of her little house with water, she heated it carefully with magic. Then she tossed every single bit of elfroot she had into the water. Her eyes lingered on a bit of amrita vein she kept should anyone need an especially potent healing potion, but she sighed and pushed it back onto the shelf, wincing at the twinge in her arm as she did.

As she sank into the steaming tub with a groan, she found herself wondering how surprised Keeper Ilshae would be to know alchemy had become Velanna’s livelihood, more or less. Velanna showed a talent for it early on, but her keenest interests lay with history and magic, and Ilshae focused her studies there. Still, Velanna found alchemy calming; she liked the easy rhythm of the mortar and pestle, the logic of the measurements and mixtures, the soothing smell of the herbs. Of course she often lacked the patience for it as a youth, and didn’t come to really appreciate it again until she was a Warden, arguing with the Keep’s (human) healers over the best herbs for poultices or the right way to strengthen a stamina draught. When she reached Kirkwall after leaving the Dalish, she had only what little coin she’d carried with her when she left Amaranthine, and it was barely enough to keep her fed. She had slept just outside the city in a small cave she’d happened upon, keeping it hidden from bandits and smugglers with rocks and heavy wards. Even if she could have afforded to live inside the city, she was still learning to live with Justice in her head, still learning to walk the balance of sharing her mind and her body, and she feared discovery. She took what odd Chantry board jobs she could manage without catching the Templars’ attention, but those came few and far between as the streets swelled with refugees. So she turned to her alchemy. Healing poultices and potions for illness, she found, sold very well among the Fereldan and elven needy, those turned out from the healers for too little coin or too little room. Justice spoke to her all the while, driving her again and again toward the elves and the alienage, stirring her anger at each injustice she saw, each elf in desperate need. She made enough, eventually, to buy a hovel there in the alienage. It was, unsurprisingly, Justice’s idea to begin her teaching sessions when she moved in, but she liked to think there was something of her in there, too. She thought sometimes of her long and often heated conversations with Seriah--Warden-Commander Tabris--about the elves and their plight.

“They deserve to know their history, to know where they come from,” she’d said one night, sitting with Velanna in the Keep library. “As much as any other.”

Even when she had still been Ilshae’s First, Velanna knew she was ill-suited to teaching. Her short temper was rivaled only by her impatience, and few in the clan seemed especially interested in listening to or even speaking with her, at least among those her age. The thought of trying to teach city elves would have been that much more ridiculous, if she’d even thought of it at all. The flat ears that abandoned their people to live among the shems? They had forsaken the ways of the elves. Certainly some tried to flee the cities and join the clans again, but they numbered few, and Velanna had more important things to worry about. She felt a little ashamed now at how preposterous she’d thought it all, now.

So, even as she bristled at the murmurs that followed her through the alienage, some part of it felt deserved, though she’d bite off her own tongue before admitting it. And she still made a point of ignoring the rumors as she settled in. Yet in such tight living quarters, it was impossible not to hear some of them as she passed through the market or opened her windows in the morning, whispers of “Warden” and “mage,” of “that strange Dalish filling our children’s heads with stories.” But whatever misgivings they had, many still seemed all too happy to drop those children at her doorstep for a few hours, in the end. And her potions and poultices healed their illnesses at a far better price (sometimes no price at all, if that was the need) than they could find with the humans. She was no healer, but she could ease the burden, and the more she did, the more they seemed to trust her, to come to her with needs or seeking aid. And that was… well. Something.

She leaned her head back on the edge of the tub, letting the heat soothe her tired limbs. Despite all of that work, she still couldn’t think of this place as home, not really, not like the Warden’s Keep had become after she left the Dalish. Going back into the Deep Roads now, running into the Wardens again… her heart _hurt_ to see them. To see him. She grit her teeth as she thought of Nathaniel’s face looking up at her in the tunnels, such awe in his gaze. She felt her chest tighten, and she shook her head to try and clear it. If he knew what she was now… if he knew what had happened… if _any_ of them knew...

She closed her eyes. That could never again be home. Justice stirred once more, but she refused him, and listened instead for the breeze drifting in through her windows, for the creaking of the vhenadahl, for the sound of the merchants hawking their wares in the square beyond, and the children laughing. She tried to let them carry her thoughts away, but a weight had settled, heavy and persistent, in her chest. The longer she listened to the voices in the square, the more she found herself thinking of Seriah, and her stories of the Denerim alienage. Velanna couldn’t ignore this anymore.

 

* * *

 

By the time she finally scrubbed all the dust from her skin and her bruises and cuts were bandaged and poulticed, the sun had long since set. She pulled on an old, simple robe one of the tailors had given her as thanks for her lessons, a thin but well-made thing. She hovered at her desk, worrying the edge of a blank sheet of paper.

Finally, scoffing at herself, Velanna dropped heavily into her chair. She reached for her ink bottle, a murmured prayer to Mythal on her lips, and she dipped her quill in.

_Dear Seri--_

She stopped, biting her lip. Then she angrily scratched over the letters.

_To Warden-Commander Tabris--_

She stared at the words a moment, then scratched them out again. A thought came to her in Justice’s whisper: _The title does not matter._ Velanna hesitated, eyeing the splotched ink before crumpling the paper and tossing it away.

“More people will look at it than just her,” Velanna said aloud. She slid another sheet of paper free and spread it before her.

_Warden-Commander--_

Her quill hovered a moment before she continued.

_No doubt Nathaniel has told you of our meeting. I am--_

She stopped, then crossed out the last two words.

_Circumstance prevented me from sending word sooner, but I am alive and--_

She paused, then sighed.

_\--well._

She leaned back, picking at the quill feather and mulling carefully over her words. She had no hope that Nathaniel would keep her location secret. She hardly knew why she told him in the first place.

 _That is a lie_ , Justice said.

Velanna frowned and willed him silent. She knew the Commander, knew her frustratingly noble intention, that the Wardens might come knocking the moment she--

A quick and quiet rap at her front door interrupted her thoughts. She sat up straight and stiff in her chair, her head snapping around. It wasn’t unheard of for elves in need of poultices to come late at night, but it was unusual. Had the templars found her at last? Or maybe the Wardens had come sooner than she expected.

She grabbed her staff from where it leaned near her desk as another knock sounded. She approached the door carefully, listening for the clink of armor or the murmur of voices through the window. She heard only the distant hum from the factory district.

“Who comes?” she called, gripping her staff tightly.

“An old friend,” came the muffled reply, and for a moment, Velanna couldn’t breathe.

Trying to keep her fingers steady, she reached to unlock the door. A tall, cloaked figure stood at her doorstep, unmistakably human with the broad shoulders and long legs, even with the hood drawn up. She recognized the top of the longbow over his shoulder, the worn but sturdy wood shaped to a graceful curve. She kept her eyes there so she didn’t have to meet his, but she felt the weight of his gaze all the same.

“Maker’s breath, it really is you,” he whispered, and the sound of his voice made her heart ache. Her hand shook on the door handle. From the corner of her eye she saw his hand begin to lift as if to touch her, and she tried to hide her flinch by stepping backward to open the door wider.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” she said, a little too sharp. She caught a glimpse of his frown as he stepped inside, and she shut her eyes--and the door--tightly. An elven curse escaped under her breath, too low for him to hear, and she fumbled with the door’s lock. When she finally squared her shoulders and turned back around, he had pushed back his hood and was looking all around the room. His hair seemed a little longer, and as he shifted in the light from her candles, she caught a strand of gray among all the black. She stared at it until his voice broke the silence.

“It suits you,” he said, reaching to run a finger along the wood of one of her bookshelves.

_Why do you not go to him? Your memories of him--_

It took every ounce of her strength to keep the outburst of “SHUT UP!” inside her head. She clenched her teeth and bustled across the room to her desk, leaning her staff against the wall.

“It serves,” she finally said, stacking a few papers together to keep her hands busy.

“These shelves are rather bare, though,” he said.

She pretended to straighten the stack of blank paper at the desk’s center, carefully turning the half-finished letter over. “Yes, well, they don’t exactly donate books to apostates in need in this city.”

“Velanna.”

She froze. His voice was so gentle it hurt.

“Please look at me.”

She dropped her hands back to her sides and pursed her lips, taking a deep breath. Then she turned, folding her arms across her chest. “What do you want?”

The sharpness of it surprised even her, and she regretted it immediately. He looked stung, frowning at her, and that ache in her chest deepened.

“What… do I want?” he said, and she heard the hurt beneath the anger, and tore her eyes away, unable to bear hearing it _and_ seeing it. “What do I _want_? Do you have _any_ idea how long… how long we… Maker, Velanna, how can you…?”

He turned away, scrubbing a hand through his hair. That white strand caught the light again, and she tightened her arms around herself.

For several long minutes, neither of them spoke. Nathaniel pressed his hands to his face and Velanna bit her lip, her fingers beginning to tremble again. Conversation was never her greatest gift, and she had no idea how to fit years of words into minutes of silence.

She used to prefer the nights they fought, in some twisted way, before all of this. Not because she enjoyed his anger, and not because she enjoyed her own, not really. She preferred the fighting because she knew _how_ to fight. She knew how to argue, how to push, how to shout, how to clench her fists and grit her teeth and hold her ground. It felt like the only dance she’d ever known the steps to. It was the tender nights that saw her tripping over her feet and stepping on his, the nights he looked at her with an entirely different kind of passion that kept her hands trembling and her throat tight, and kept her off balance and off center and out of her depth. That a human could do that to her never stopped rankling, either.

“Maker, Velanna,” he said again, cutting through the silence suddenly enough to make her jump. “How can you say such a thing? After everything? After all these months, after… we searched for you. Over and over. Every Maker-forsaken inch of the Deep Roads. They told me I was a fool to keep looking, but _they_ were the fools to think you dead.”

He turned back around, and she forced herself to meet his eyes, even as her hands shook around her arms. He said, “And then you stand there looking at me like… like I had the nerve to _interrupt you_ or something.”

His voice softened. “Was all of that for nothing? Have I been searching all these months for someone who took joy in escaping me?”

“You think that’s what happened?” she said, her voice hoarse, but she still managed to give it an edge.

“I don’t _know_ what happened, Velanna!” he shouted, throwing his hands up. “They told me to give you up for dead. I thought… I thought the woman I loved was dead in the dark, somewhere I couldn’t reach her, and you have the _nerve_ to ask what I want?”

Velanna stiffened, looking away to glare at the floor. “All right, fine, but you don’t understand what--”

“No! I don’t understand! And neither do you!” he said. “Where have you been? Why haven’t you written? Why didn’t… why didn’t you come home?”

His voice broken, and from the corner of her eye, she saw his head bow. Suddenly, every part of her felt hollow.

She heard a noise, somewhere between choking and sobbing, and jumped at the sound. She only realized the noise was her own when Nathaniel suddenly lost whatever resolve kept him on the other side of the room. She lunged for him before he reached her, grabbing fistfuls of his cloak and dragging him down to meet her lips. His hands grabbed hold of her waist as they crashed together, a kiss with more teeth than tenderness, nothing like a welcome, everything like a war. She drove him backward as their tongues met, swallowing his gasp as his back hit the bookshelf and the few volumes sitting on it toppled over. His grip on her waist tightened, and her fingers abandoned his cloak to sink instead into his hair, her nails rough against his scalp. She yanked, turning his head where she wanted it, and then bit hard at his lower lip, earning a groan. He fought for control of the kiss, curling his tongue around hers as he jerked her hips against his, his grip now hard enough to bruise. She bit down on his tongue, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to make him gasp again, pulling back to pant her name against her mouth.

“Get this thing off,” she demanded before he could say anything else, pulling one hand out of his hair to tug at his cloak. He smiled at her, all swollen lips and mussed hair, a sight she never thought she’d see again, and before the ache of it could swallow her whole she claimed his mouth again.

He brushed her fingers away from his cloak and undid the buttons himself. She wrenched it free from his shoulders and tossed it to the floor before reaching for the buckles of his doublet. He’d forgone full Warden armor, blessedly, in favor of lighter leather. She plucked impatiently at the metal until it slid free, nipping and sucking at his lips all the while. Between them they finally managed to work him down to breeches and boots, baring his chest against her. Her fingers automatically began carding through his chest hair, and she bit back a smile when he pulled away to chuckle. She pinched his nipple instead, feeling victorious when his laughter dissolved into a groan.

He leaned down so his lips hovered at her ear, his voice low and husky. “I would have you here, but the day was long and I--”

“Bed,” she interrupted, kissing him again. He let her lead him down the corridor and into her room, both of them somehow managing not to stumble. Her bed was small, barely long enough to keep Nathaniel’s feet from dangling over the edge, and pushed up against the wall, but it didn’t matter. She pushed him down on top of it, the straw filling rustling under his weight, and then she stepped back. The room was dark, the only light coming through the window over the bed from the torches outside, but that was enough to see the heat in his eyes. Her heart raced as she grabbed the ends of her robe and dragged it over her head, ignoring the lingering pain in her arm where the bandage was. She tossed it to the floor before stepping close again and reaching for the laces of his breeches. She heard his breath catch, and didn’t bother smothering the smirk that slid over her lips as she wasted no time tugging them free. Then she reached up, pulling the half bun out of her hair so that it spilled freely around her shoulders.

Nathaniel sat up, reaching for her hips and tugging her closer, raising his head toward one of her breasts. She caught him by the hair instead, dragging his head back and leaning down to crush her mouth against his. With her free hand, she grabbed his wrist, angling him lower, pushing him where she wanted him. She didn’t want this long and tender, not like she knew he’d prefer, not like she knew he’d try to give her. She wanted him now, _needed_ him now, before either of them stopped to think better of what they were doing.

Nathaniel took the hint and slid his fingers low, and it was her turn to gasp against his mouth. He chuckled as her head fell back, taking advantage of the angle to nibble along her neck as his fingers moved. She snapped her hips harder against him, urging him faster, but he resisted, teasing her with light touches instead, moving his mouth to press hard kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She growled, yanking his head back again and then shoving him down by the shoulders, his hand falling away from her to grip her blankets instead.

“Insufferable human,” she said.

“Impatient elf,” he laughed.

She climbed up on the bed, straddling him, and wasted no time sinking down on top of him until her thighs met his and she threw her head back again to moan. He gave an answering sob, wrenching his fingers up to hold her hips. She kept her eyes shut, afraid suddenly that if she looked at him, the overwhelming feeling of being _together_ \--again, at last, one last time--might undo her completely. Her hands began to shake again where they gripped his shoulders.

“Velanna…” he started, but she _couldn’t_ , not now. So she moved.

Oh, she had forgotten what this felt like, and it was more wonderful and more beautiful than she remembered, and that might damn well kill her. She leaned down over him, and one of his hands left her waist to slide up the curve of her back. He thrust up against every snap of her hips, and she panted in his ear, hot and hungry, leaning close to drag her teeth over his earlobe just to hear him groan.

“Maker, Velanna…” he rasped.

“Yes,” she said, “Oh, yes.”

She tried to concentrate on the feeling, to memorize the way his hands felt on her skin, the noises escaping his lips, the way he moved. She tried to let it chase everything else from her mind, until all she knew was his chest against hers, his thighs against hers, his head next to hers. She let it wash over and through her, let the pleasure of it build. She leaned back, dragging her nails down his chest as she went, picking up the pace.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

It only took a few hard circles of his fingers before she cried out, falling over the edge with a wail of his name. She collapsed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady as his thrusting grew erratic. Then he followed, crying out and stilling beneath her.

 

* * *

 

She let him hold her against him as they lay side by side in her bed, his hand tracing lazy circles in her side. They lay in silence for a long time--she didn’t doubt he was as reluctant as she was to break it--hands roaming idly as she kept her head tucked under his chin.

“We planted a tree for you,” he said, finally, and she forced her eyes shut as her hand stilled on his chest. He swallowed, and she felt the motion against her head. “In the courtyard, beyond the smithy. It was… my idea, but the Commander insisted. I’m sure you’d have laughed at us, huddled together around that sapling. None of us knew any Dalish rites. Seriah even tried to get her hands on a book or something, sent after the nearest clan, but none travelled near Amaranthine at that time of year. So we just… wished you well.”

It hurt too much to even try to picture it, but the image came anyway, of Nathaniel and Seriah and Sigrun, maybe even Anders and Oghren, maybe a few others, standing in an awkward little circle in the grass. Velanna bit the inside of her cheek, clenching her eyes shut, and she felt him sigh into her hair.

“We searched the Roads for months. We watched for any sign, any word… but you just…” his breath caught again, “You just vanished. Some thought it obvious you perished when the horde descended that night, or worse, but I _knew_ you were alive. I knew it…”

Velanna pulled away from him and sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. Nathaniel pulled himself up, resting his back against the window sill, watching her. For the first time since their argument turned to something else earlier that night, she felt Justice pushing through her thoughts again. She forced herself not to consider how much he had seen and heard and oh, Creators, probably felt, because that was just too much to bear. But he said nothing of that, only a whisper of _tell him the truth, tell him what we are doing_ , a futile one, as he likely knew.

“I don’t remember how I survived the horde,” she said, and at least that was more or less true. “I woke on Sundermount. The Dalish found me. They nursed me back to health, let me stay until I was strong enough to leave, and then… well, word still travels among the clans, it seems, the one here hails from Ferelden and knew of me. I had no place with them. So I came to Kirkwall.”

“Why did you not send us word? Not in all this time?” Nathaniel asked, and Velanna tensed. She knew the question was coming, but she still had no answer to give him, not one she did not fear.

“At first I had no money,” she lied. “Not even for a letter, much less for a ship. And the Templars here are far more vigilant than in Ferelden. I feared discovery, and for a long time, I hid, hunting food where I could. Then… I started to see how the refugees were treated, and the elves here, they had nothing. _Nothing._ And I… I couldn’t stand by while they suffered. I had to… I made poultices and potions, anything I could, something that could help. The conditions here are deplorable, and they have no one. No advocate, no one who cares, everyone is out for whatever they can grab. And they know so little of who they are, of their history. And I knew I could not abandon them, not even for the Wardens. You must understand how important this is.”

“But you couldn’t have sent word? Couldn’t have told us where you were, that you were _alive_?” Nathaniel said, some of the anger bleeding back into his voice.

“And abandon these people to face retribution with the Wardens?” Velanna said.

“You think Seriah wouldn’t have mercy? Wouldn’t sympathize with your cause? Andraste’s pyre, Velanna, she’s a city elf herself.”

“I _know_ that, but I am still a deserter. And besides that, even if she was merciful, I cannot go back. I cannot leave them like this.”

“So you would give up everything? What of the elves in Ferelden? You never cared so greatly for their plight, yet you saw it all the time.”

Velanna winced. “I know. To my shame. Seriah… tried to sway me, and… it was time I heard her words.”

Nathaniel sat up straighter, his voice tight. “You will not return with me.”

“I cannot go back,” she said again, turning her head away. “I am needed here.”

“Velanna… you are needed at home -- at the Keep. You are a Warden--”

“I don’t need you to remind me of what I am!” Velanna snapped, whipping her head back around.

Her words hung in the dark between them for several too-long minutes. How she ached to go back a few hours, to feel the heat of his touch rather than of his anger, but she knew this would come. She pushed herself to perch at the side of the bed, her back to him.

“My duty to my people has always come before any other,” she said, quiet now, forcing her shoulders to stay steady. She felt Justice rousing, marching forward from whatever silent place he’d settled. She curled her fingers around the edges of the mattress. _Not now._ “And you’re right, I did not always understand the elves here to be my people. But I will not--cannot--abandon them now, to the city that cares nothing for their suffering. Not for duty, or for honor, or for… love.”

The words were bitter on her tongue. Nathaniel made a noise as if he’d been struck, and Velanna tensed in response, shutting her eyes against the tears that formed. They sat like that awhile longer, tears slipping down Velanna’s cheeks, until slowly, she felt Nathaniel move. The mattress shook, and then he was moving past her to grab his breeches from the floor. She stared at her feet as he pulled them on and then reached for his boots. He paused, then moved to her, and she felt a gentle hand along her jaw. She heard him drawn in a breath as if to say something, but then his hand fell away, and he turned. Somehow, his silence settled heavier on her heart than anything else he could have said. She listened to him move in the other room, to the rustle of his clothing, and let the tears fall where they would.

Then a thought struck her. Leaping to her feet, she snatched her robes from the floor and pulled them over her head. She ran out of the bedroom, making immediately for her desk.

“Wait,” she said over her shoulder, and Nathaniel went completely still.

She fished out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped her quill in ink. Somehow, the words flowed freely this time.

_Dear Seriah,_

_I hope you can one day forgive me. I do yet live, and I have seen now what you tried all along to show me. I cannot abandon my people here. You will do what you must, I know, but please understand. This is, after all, your terrible influence._

_Dareth shiral.  
Velanna_

She blew on the ink, and when it was dry, she folded it carefully and scrawled Seriah’s name across the front. She turned around and pushed the letter into Nathaniel’s hands, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“Give that to her,” she said, then swallowed. “Please.”

He held the letter a moment, then creased it down smaller, tucking it into a pouch in his belt. She let him pull on the rest of his armor uninterrupted, staring ahead of him at a stack of books on the table. Once he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and pulled his hood low, he hesitated one last time.

"That boy you brought us. Carver?" he said. Velanna felt ashamed she hadn't thought to ask. "Tell his family he lives. He will make a fine Warden."

"...Thank you," Velanna whispered.

“Farewell, my lady,” he said, softly, and Velanna bowed her head, tears falling fresh.

“Be safe,” she managed. “Creators watch over you.”

Then he was gone, out the door and into the night, the room as still as if he’d never been there at all.

Velanna fell into her desk chair and wept, fisting her hands into her hair. Another family lost, because she would not abandon the path she believed to be right, and somehow, it was no less bitter, and no easier, the second time.

She stayed there, bowed low over her knees, until her eyes dried and the first streaks of dawn bled through the darkness. And then Justice could remain silent no longer.

 _No more distractions now,_ flowed through her thoughts, strong and clear. _Our work must truly begin._

She lifted her head, looking at the stack of blank paper in front of her. Then, almost before she realized she was moving, the quill was in her hand, freshly inked. She lowered it to the page.


End file.
